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SCENE II.

Enter PUCK. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,

All with weary task foredone. Now the wasted brands do glow,

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, Puts the wretch that lies in woe,

In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night,

That the graves all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite,

In the church-way paths to glide; And we fairies, that do run,

By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,

Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic Not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallowed house ;
I am sent, with broom, before,
To
sweep

the dust behind the door. Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train, Obe. Through this house give glimmering light,

By the dead and drowsy fire.
Every elf and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty after me,
Sing and dance it trippingly.

T'ita. First, rehearse this song by rote.
To each word a warbling note,
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

SONG AND DANCE.
Obe. Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue, there create,
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be.

And the blots of nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,
Shall upon their children be.
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gate;
And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace with sweet peace.
E'er shall it in safety rest,
And the owner of it blest.

Trip away;

Make no stay;
Meet me all by break of day.

[Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and Train. Puck. If we shadows have offended,

T'hink but this, (and all is mended,
That you have but slumbered here,
While these visions did appear,
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream.
Gentlee, do not reprehend;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I'm an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck,
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends, ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call.
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amenda,

[Erit.

LOVE'S LABOR’S LOST.

445

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

FERDINAND, King of Navarre.
BIRON,
LONGAVILLE, Lords, attending on the King,
DUMAIN,
BOYET,

VEREADE

, } Lords, atsending on the Princess of France

Don ADRIANO DE ARMADO, a fantastical Spaniara.
SIR NATHANIEL, a Curate.
HOLOFERNES, a Schoolmastem
DULL, a Constable.
COSTARD, a Clown.
Moth, Page to Amusa..
A Foropter.

Princess of France.
ROSALINE,
MARIA, Ladies, attending on the Princess.

KATHARINE,

JAQUENETTA, a Country Wench.

Officers and others, Attendants on the King and Princess

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LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST.

ACT I.

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SCENE I. Navarre. A Park, with a Palace in it.

Enter the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN. King. LET fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live registered upon our brazen tombs, And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant, devouring time, The endeavor of this present breath may buy That honor, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, And make us heirs of all eternity. Therefore, brave conquerors !—for so you are, That war against your own affections, And the huge army of the world's desires, – Our late edíct shall strongly stand in force. Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; Our court shall be a little Academe, Still and contemplative in living art. You three, Birón, Dumain, and Longaville, Have sworn for three years' term to live with me, My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, That are recorded in this schedule here. Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names ; That his own hand may strike his honor down, That violates the smallest branch herein. If you are armed to do, as sworn to do, Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too.

Long. I am resolved. "Tis but a three years' fast; The mind shall banquet, though the body pine. Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits.

Dum. My loving lørd, Dumain is mortified; The grosser manner of these world's delights He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves.

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