Imatges de pÓgina
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Biron. Is this your perfectnefs? be gone, you rogue,
Rof. What would these strangers? know their minds,
Boyet.

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If they do speak our language, 'tis our Will
That fome plain man recount their purposes.
Know, what they would.

Boyet. What would you with the Princess?
Biron. Nothing, but peace and gentle vifitation.
Rof. What would they, fay they?
Boyet. Nothing, but peace and gentle vifitation.
Rof. Why, That they have; and bid them fo be

gone.

Boyet. She fays, you have it; and you may be gone.
King Say to her, we have meafur'd many miles,
To tread a measure with her on the grass.

Boyet. They fay, that they have measur'd many a
mile,

To tread a measure with you on this grass.

Rof. It is not fo. Ask them, how many inches
Is in one mile: if they have measur'd many,
The measure then of one is easily told.

Boyet. If to come hither you have measur'd miles,
And many miles; the Princess bids
How many inches doth fill up one mile?

you tell,

Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary fteps.
Boyet. She hears her felf.

Rof. How many weary steps

Of many weary miles, you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile?

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for
Our duty is fo rich, fo infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchfafe to fhew the funshine of your face,
That we (like favages) may worship it.

Rof. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
King. Bleffed are clouds, to do as fuch clouds do.
Vouchfafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.

Rof. O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'st but moon-shine in the water.

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King. Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change;

Thou bid'ft me beg, this begging is not strange.
Rof. Play, mufick, then; nay, you must do it foon.
Not yet? no dance? thus change I, like the moon.
King. Will you not dance? how come you thus
eftrang'd?

Rof. You took the moon at full, but now she's chang'd.

King. Yet ftill fhe is the moon, and I the man. The mufick plays, vouchfafe some motion to it. Rof. Our ears vouchsafe it.

King. But your legs fhould do it.

Raf. Since you are ftrangers, and come here by chance,

we will not dance.

We'll not be nice; take hands;
King. Why take you hands then!
Rof. Only to part friends;

Curt'fie, fweet hearts, and fo the measure ends.
King. More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Rof. We can afford no more at fuch a price.
King. Prize your selves then; what buys your com-
pany?

Rof. Your abfence only.

King. That can never be.

Rof. Then cannot we be bought; and fo, adieu; Twice to your vifor, and half once to you.

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. Rof. In private then.

King. I am beft pleas'd with That.

Biron. White-handed miftrefs, one fweet word with thee.

Prin. Honey, and milk, and fugar, there is three. Biron. Nay then, two treys; and if you grow fo nice,

well run, dice:

Methegline, wort, and malmfey;
There's half a dozen fweets.

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu;
Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.
Biron. One word in fecret.

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Prin. Let it not be sweet.
Biron. Thou griev'ft my gall.
Prin. Gall? bitter.

Biron. Therefore meet.

Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word ? Mar. Name it.

Dum. Fair lady,

Mar. Say you fo? fair lord:

Take that for yo

fair lady.

Dum. Please it you ;

As much in private; and I'll bid adieu.

Cath. What, was your visor made without a tongue ? Long. I know the reafon, lady, why you ask. Cath. O, for your reafon! quickly, Sir; I long. Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my speechless vizor half.

Cath. Veal, quoth the Dutch man; is not veal a calf?

Long. A calf, fair lady?
Cath. No, a fair lord calf.

Long. Let's part the word.

Cath. No, I'll not be your half;

Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.

Long. Look, how you butt your felf in thefe fharp mocks!

Will you give horns, chafte lady? do not fo.

Cath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Long. One word in private with you, ere I die.
Cath. Bleat foftly then, the butcher hears you cry.
Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor's edge, invincible,

Cutting a smaller hair than may be feen:
Above the fenfe of fenfe, fo fenfible

Seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings; Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, fwifter

things.

Rof. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.

Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure fcoff.

King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have fimple wits. [Exeunt King and Lords. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. Are these the Breed of wits fo wondred at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your fweet breaths puft out.

Rof. Well-liking wits they have; grofs, grofs; fat, fat.

Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly poor flout! Will they not (think you) hang themselves to night? Or ever, but in vizors, fhew their faces? This pert Biron was out of count'nance quite. Rof. O! they were all in lamentable cases. The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin. Biron did fwear himself out of all fuit. Mar. Dumain was at my fervice, and his fword No, point, quoth I; my fervant strait was mute. Cath. Lord Longaville faid, I came o'er his heart; And, trow you, what he call'd me? Prin. Qualm, perhaps. Cath. Yes, in good faith.

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Prin. Go, fickness as thou art!

Rof. Well, better wits have worn plain ftatute-cps. But will you hear? the King is my love fworn.

Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith me.
Cath. And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as fure as bark on tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digeft this harsh indignity.
Prin. Will they return?

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows;
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
Therefore, change Favours; and, when they repair,
Blow, like sweet roses, in this summer air.

Prin. How, blow? how, blow? fpeak to be under

ftood.

Boyet. Fair ladies, maskt, are roses in their bud;

VOL. II.

L

Or

Or angel-veiling clouds: are rofes blown,
Difmaskt, their damask sweet Commixture shewn.
Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! what shall we do,
If they return in their own fhapes to woo?

Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them ftill, as well known, as difguis'd;
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Difguis'd, like Muscovites, in fhapeless gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their fhallow Shows, and Prologue vildly pen'd,
And their rough carriage fo ridiculous,
Should be prefented at our Tent to us.

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand.
Prin. Whip to our Tents, as roes run o'er the land.
[Exeunt.

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SCENE, before the Princess's Pavilion.

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain,
in their own habits; Boyet, meeting them.

FA

KING.

AIR Sir, God fave you! Where's the Princess?
Boyet. Gose to her Tent.

Please it your Majefty, command me any service

to her

King. That fhe vouchfafe me audience for one word. Boyet. I will; and fo will the, I know, my lord. [Exit. Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pidgeons peas; And utters it again, when Jove doth please: He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares At wakes and waffals, meetings, markets, fairs: And we that fell by grofs, the Lord doth know, Have not the grace to grace it with such show.

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