_Biron._ ’Tis more than need. 285 Have at you, then, affection’s men at arms. Consider what you first did swear unto, To fast, to study, and to see no woman; Flat treason ’gainst the kingly state of youth. Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young; 290 And abstinence engenders maladies. And where that you have vow’d to study, lords, In that each of you have forsworn his book, Can you still dream and pore and thereon look? For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you, 295 Have found the ground of study’s excellence Without the beauty of a woman’s face? From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive; They are the ground, the books, the academes From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. 300 Why, universal plodding prisons up The nimble spirits in the arteries, As motion and long-during action tires The sinewy vigour of the traveller. Now, for not looking on a woman’s face, 305 You have in that forsworn the use of eyes And study too, the causer of your vow; For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman’s eye? Learning is but an adjunct to ourself 310 And where we are our learning likewise is Then when ourselves we see in ladies’ eyes. Do we not likewise see our learning there? O, we have made a vow to study, lords, And in that vow we have forsworn our books 315 For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, In leaden contemplation have found out Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes Of beauty’s tutors have enrich’d you with? Other slow arts entirely keep the brain; 320 And therefore, finding barren practisers, Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil: But love, first learned in a lady’s eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But, with the motion of all elements, 325 Courses as swift as thought in every power, And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye; A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind; 330 A lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopp’d: Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste: 335 For valour, is not Love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair; And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods 340 Make heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper’d with Love’s sighs; O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility. 345 From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;