_Biron._ By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. What is the end of study? let me know. 55 _King._ Why, that to know, which else we should not know. _Biron._ Things hid and barr’d, you mean, from common sense? _King._ Ay, that is study’s god-like recompense. _Biron._ Come on, then; I will swear to study so, To know the thing I am forbid to know: 60 As thus,—to study where I well may dine, When I to feast expressly am forbid; Or study where to meet some mistress fine, When mistresses from common sense are hid; Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath, 65 Study to break it, and not break my troth. If study’s gain be thus, and this be so, Study knows that which yet it doth not know: Swear me to this, and I will ne’er say no. _King._ These be the stops that hinder study quite, 70 And train our intellects to vain delight. _Biron._ Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain: As, painfully to pore upon a book To seek the light of truth; while truth the while 75 Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look: Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile: So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. Study me how to please the eye indeed, 80 By fixing it upon a fairer eye; Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, And give him light that it was blinded by. Study is like the heaven’s glorious sun, That will not be deep-search’d with saucy looks: 85 Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others’ books. These earthly godfathers of heaven’s lights, That give a name to every fixed star, Have no more profit of their shining nights 90 Than those that walk and wot not what they are. Too much to know, is to know nought but fame; And every godfather can give a name. _King._ How well he’s read, to reason against reading! _Dum._ Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding! 95 _Long._ He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding. _Biron._ The spring is near, when green geese are a-breeding. _Dum._ How follows that? _Biron._ Fit in his place and time. _Dum._ In reason nothing. _Biron._ Something, then, in rhyme. _King._ Biron is like an envious sneaping frost, 100 That bites the first-born infants of the spring. _Biron._ Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast, Before the birds have any cause to sing? Why should I joy in any abortive birth? At Christmas I no more desire a rose 105 Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled shows; But like of each thing that in season grows. So you, to study now it is too late, Climb o’er the house to unlock the little gate.