035 My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
[036] O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel,
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.
How shall she know my griefs? I’ll drop the paper:—
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? [Steps aside.
040 What, Longaville! and reading! Listen, ear.
Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!
Enter Longaville, with a paper.
Long. Ay me, I am forsworn!
[043] Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.