BIRON

The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing

myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in

a pitch,--pitch that defiles: defile! a foul

word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so they say

the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool: well

proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as

Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep:

well proved again o' my side! I will not love: if

I do, hang me; i' faith, I will not. O, but her

eye,--by this light, but for her eye, I would not

love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing

in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By

heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme

and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme,

and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my

sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent

it, and