Ber. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. O, but for my Loue, day would turne to night, Of all complexions the cul'd soueraignty, Doe meet as at a faire in her faire cheeke, Where seuerall Worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants, that want it selfe doth seeke. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, Fie painted Rethoricke, O she needs it not, To things of sale, a sellers praise belongs: She passes prayse, then prayse too short doth blot. A withered Hermite, fiuescore winters worne, Might shake off fiftie, looking in her eye: Beauty doth varnish Age, as if new borne, And giues the Crutch the Cradles infancie. O 'tis the Sunne that maketh all things shine

King. By heauen, thy Loue is blacke as Ebonie

Berow. Is Ebonie like her? O word diuine? A wife of such wood were felicite. O who can giue an oth? Where is a booke? That I may sweare Beauty doth beauty lacke, If that she learne not of her eye to looke: No face is faire that is not full so blacke

Kin. O paradoxe, Blacke is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons, and the Schoole of night: And beauties crest becomes the heauens well

Ber. Diuels soonest tempt resembling spirits of light. O if in blacke my Ladies browes be deckt, It mournes, that painting vsurping haire Should rauish doters with a false aspect: And therfore is she borne to make blacke, faire. Her fauour turnes the fashion of the dayes, For natiue bloud is counted painting now: And therefore red that would auoyd dispraise, Paints it selfe blacke, to imitate her brow

Dum. To look like her are Chimny-sweepers blacke

Lon. And since her time, are Colliers counted bright

King. And Aethiops of their sweet complexion crake

Dum. Dark needs no Candles now, for dark is light

Ber. Your mistresses dare neuer come in raine, For feare their colours should be washt away

Kin. 'Twere good yours did: for sir to tell you plaine, Ile finde a fairer face not washt to day

Ber. Ile proue her faire, or talke till dooms-day here

Kin. No Diuell will fright thee then so much as shee

Duma. I neuer knew man hold vile stuffe so deere

Lon. Looke, heer's thy loue, my foot and her face see

Ber. O if the streets were paued with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread

Duma. O vile, then as she goes what vpward lyes? The street should see as she walk'd ouer head

Kin. But what of this, are we not all in loue? Ber. O nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworne

Kin. Then leaue this chat, & good Berown now proue Our louing lawfull, and our fayth not torne

Dum. I marie there, some flattery for this euill

Long. O some authority how to proceed, Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the diuell

Loues Labour's lost Page 22

William Shakespeare Plays

Free Books in the public domain from the Classic Literature Library ©

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

All Pages of This Book