For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, Rofa. Another of these students at that time Prin. God bless my ladies, are they all in love, With fuch bedecking ornaments of praise! Mar. Here comes Boyet. Enter Boyet. Prin. Now, what admittance, Lord? Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach; And he and his competitors in oath Were all addreft to meet you, gentle lady, Before I came: marry, thus much I've learnt, He rather means to lodge you in the field, Like one that comes here to besiege his Court, To let you enter his unpeopled house. Enter the King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and King. Fair Princefs, welcome to the Court of Na varre. Prin. Fair, I give you back again; and welcome I have not yet: the roof of this Court is too high to be yours; and welcome to the wide fields, too bafe to be mine. King. You fhall be welcome, Madam, to my Court. Prin. I will be welcome then; conduct me thither. King. Hear me, dear lady, I have fworn an oath. Prin. Our Lady help my lord! he'll be forfworn. King. Not for the world, fair Madam, by my will. Prin. Why, Will fhall break its will, and nothing elfe. King. Your ladyfhip is ignorant what it is. Prin. Were my Lord fo, his ignorance were wife, But pardon me, I am too fudden bold: King. Madam, I will, if fuddenly I may. Rof. How needlefs was it then to ask the question? Rof. 'Tis long of you, that fpur me with fuch queftions. Biron. Your wit's too hot, it fpeeds too faft, 'twill tire. Rof. Not 'till it leave the rider in the mire. Biron. What time o' day? Rof. The hour, that fools fhould ask. King. Madam, your father here doth intimate But fay, that he, or we, as neither have, Although not valu'd to the mony's worth : An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, (7) To have his title live in Aquitain; Which we much rather had depart withal, Dear Princess, were not his requests fo far From reafon's yielding, your fair felf should make (7) And not demands One payment of an hundred thousand Crowns, To have his Title live in Aquitaine.] The old Books concur in this Reading, and Mr. Pope has em braced it; tho', as I conceive, it is ftark Nonsense, and repugnant to the Circumftance fuppos'd by our Poet. I have, by reforming the Pointing, and throwing out a fingle Letter, reftor'd, I believe, the genuine Senfe of the Paffage. Aquitain was pledg'd, it seems, to Navarre's father, for 20cooo Crowns. The French King pretends to have paid one Moiety of this Debt, (which Navarre knows nothing of,) but demands this Moiety back again: inftead whereof (says Navarre) he should rather pay the remaining Moiety, and demand to have Aquitain redeliver'd up to him. This is plain and eafy Reasoning upon the Fact fuppos'd; and Navarre declares, he had rather receive the Refidue of his Debt, than detain the Province mortgag'd for Security of it. A A yielding 'gainft fome reason in my breast ; Prin. You do the King my father too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name, In fo unfeeming to confefs receipt Of that, which hath so faithfully been paid. Prin. We arrest your word: King. Satisfie me so. Boyet. So please your Grace, the packet is not come, Where that and other fpecialties are bound: To morrow you shall have a fight of them. King. It fhall fuffice me; at which interview, Mean time, receive fuch welcome at my hand, Your own good thoughts excufe me, and farewel; Prin. Sweet health and fair defires confort your King. Thy own Wish wish I thee, in every place. [Exit. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. Rof. I pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to fee it. Biron. I would, you heard it Rof. Is the fool fick ? Biron. Sick at the heart. Rof. Alack, let it blood. groan. Rof. Rof. My phyfick fays, ay. Biron. Will you prick't with your eye? [Exit. Dum. Sir, I pray you a word: what lady is that fame? Boyet. The heir of Alanfon, Rofaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady; Monfieur, fare you well. [Exit. Long. I befeech you, a word: what is fhe in white? Boyet. A woman fometimes, if you faw her in the light. Long. Perchance, light. in the light; I defire her name. Boyet. She hath but one for her felf; to defire That, were a fhame. Long. Pray you, Sir, whofe daughter ? She is an heir of Faulconbridge. Long. Nay, my choller is ended: She is a moft fweet lady. Boyet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be. [Exit Long, Biron. What's her name in the cap? Boyet. Catharine, by good hap. Biron. Is the wedded, or no? Boyet. To her will, Sir, or fo. Biron. You are welcome, Sir: adieu! Boyet. Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you. [Exit Biron. Mar. That laft is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord; Not a word with him but a jest. Boyet. And every jeft but a word. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board. Mar. Two hot fheeps, marry. Boyet. |