A tweluemonth? Well: befall what will befall,
Ile iest a tweluemonth in an Hospitall
Qu. I sweet my Lord, and so I take my leaue
King. No Madam, we will bring you on your way
Ber. Our woing doth not end like an old Play:
Iacke hath not Gill: these Ladies courtesie
Might wel haue made our sport a Comedie
Kin. Come sir, it wants a tweluemonth and a day,
And then 'twil end
Ber. That's too long for a play.
Enter Braggart.
Brag. Sweet Maiesty vouchsafe me
Qu. Was not that Hector?
Dum. The worthie Knight of Troy
Brag. I wil kisse thy royal finger, and take leaue.
I am a Votarie, I haue vow'd to Iaquenetta to holde the
Plough for her sweet loue three yeares. But most esteemed
greatnesse, wil you heare the Dialogue that the two
Learned men haue compiled, in praise of the Owle and
the Cuckow? It should haue followed in the end of our
shew
Kin. Call them forth quickely, we will do so
Brag. Holla, Approach.
Enter all.
This side is Hiems, Winter.
This Ver, the Spring: the one maintained by the Owle,
Th' other by the Cuckow.
Ver, begin.
The Song.
When Dasies pied, and Violets blew,
And Cuckow-buds of yellow hew:
And Ladie-smockes all siluer white,
Do paint the Medowes with delight.
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