KING. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons and the school of night; And beauty’s crest becomes the heavens well. BEROWNE. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light. O, if in black my lady’s brows be decked, It mourns that painting and usurping hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect; And therefore is she born to make black fair. Her favour turns the fashion of the days, For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. DUMAINE. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black. LONGAVILLE. And since her time are colliers counted bright. KING. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack. DUMAINE. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. BEROWNE. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, For fear their colours should be washed away. KING. ’Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain, I’ll find a fairer face not washed today. BEROWNE. I’ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. KING. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. DUMAINE. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. LONGAVILLE. [_Showing his shoe_.] Look, here’s thy love, my foot and her face see. BEROWNE. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. DUMAINE. O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies The street should see as she walked over head. KING. But what of this? Are we not all in love? BEROWNE. Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn. KING. Then leave this chat, and, good Berowne, now prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. DUMAINE. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil. LONGAVILLE. O, some authority how to proceed. Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. DUMAINE. Some salve for perjury.