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Mar. At the twelvemonth's end,
I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
Rof. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
Mirth cannot move a foul in agony.
Rof. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befall what will befall,
Prin. Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave.
King. No, madam; we will bring you on your way.
King. Come, fir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day,
Biron. That's too long for a play.
Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me
[to the king.
Dum. The worthy knight of Troy.
Arm. I will kifs thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her fweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have follow'd in the end of our fhow.
King. Call them forth quickly; we will do fo.
This fide is Hiems, winter:
This Ver, the fpring: the one maintain'd by the owl,