_Biron._ Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. [_Advancing._ Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me! Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove These worms for loving, that art most in love? 150 Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears There is no certain princess that appears; You’ll not be perjured, ’tis a hateful thing; Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting! But are you not ashamed? nay, are you not, 155 All three of you, to be thus much o’ershot? You found his mote; the king your mote did see; But I a beam do find in each of three. O, what a scene of foolery have I seen, Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow and of teen! 160 O me, with what strict patience have I sat, To see a king transformed to a gnat! To see great Hercules whipping a gig, And profound Solomon to tune a jig, And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, 165 And critic Timon laugh at idle toys! Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain? And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? And where my liege’s? all about the breast: A caudle, ho! _King._ Too bitter is thy jest. 170 Are we betray’d thus to thy over-view? _Biron._ Not you to me, but I betray’d by you: I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in; I am betray’d, by keeping company 175 With men like you, men of inconstancy. When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? Or groan for love? or spend a minute’s time In pruning me? When shall you hear that I Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 180 A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, A leg, a limb?— _King._ Soft! whither away so fast? A true man or a thief that gallops so? _Biron._ I post from love: good lover, let me go. _Enter_ JAQUENETTA _and_ COSTARD. _Jaq._ God bless the king! _King._ What present hast thou there? 185 _Cost._ Some certain treason. _King._ What makes treason here? _Cost._ Nay, it makes nothing, sir. _King._ If it mar nothing neither, The treason and you go in peace away together. _Jaq._ I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read: Our parson misdoubts it; ’twas treason, he said. 190 _King._ Biron, read it over. [_Giving him the paper._ Where hadst thou it? _Jaq._ Of Costard. _King._ Where hadst thou it? _Cost._ Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. 195 [_Biron tears the letter._ _King._ How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it? _Biron._ A toy, my liege, a toy: your Grace needs not fear it. _Long._ It did move him to passion, and therefore let’s hear it. _Dum._ It is Biron’s writing, and here is his name. [_Gathering up the pieces._