Studie is like the heauens glorious Sunne,
That will not be deepe search'd with sawcy lookes:
Small haue continuall plodders euer wonne,
Saue base authoritie from others Bookes.
These earthly Godfathers of heauens lights,
That giue a name to euery fixed Starre,
Haue no more profit of their shining nights,
Then those that walke and wot not what they are.
Too much to know, is to know nought but fame:
And euery Godfather can giue a name
Fer. How well hee's read, to reason against reading
Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding
Lon. Hee weedes the corne, and still lets grow the
weeding
Ber. The Spring is neare when greene geesse are a
breeding
Dum. How followes that?
Ber. Fit in his place and time
Dum. In reason nothing
Ber. Something then in rime
Ferd. Berowne is like an enuious sneaping Frost,
That bites the first borne infants of the Spring
Ber. Wel, say I am, why should proud Summer boast,
Before the Birds haue any cause to sing?
Why should I ioy in any abortiue birth?
At Christmas I no more desire a Rose,
Then wish a Snow in Mayes new fangled showes:
But like of each thing that in season growes.
So you to studie now it is too late,
That were to clymbe ore the house to vnlocke the gate
Fer. Well, sit you out: go home Berowne: adue
Ber. No my good Lord, I haue sworn to stay with you.
And though I haue for barbarisme spoke more,
Then for that Angell knowledge you can say,
Yet confident Ile keepe what I haue sworne,
And bide the pennance of each three yeares day.
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