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.