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Biron. Is this your perfectnefs? be gone, you rogue,
If they do speak our language, 'tis our Will
Boyet. What would you with the Princess?
Boyet. She fays, you have it; and you may be gone.
Boyet. They fay, that they have measur'd many a
To tread a measure with you on this grass.
Rof. It is not fo. Ask them, how many inches
Boyet. If to come hither you have measur'd miles,
Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary fteps.
Rof. How many weary steps
Of many weary miles, you have o'ergone,
Biron. We number nothing that we spend for
Rof. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
Rof. O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter;
King. Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change;
Thou bid'ft me beg, this begging is not strange.
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;
Curt'fie, fweet hearts, and fo the measure ends.
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;
Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu;
Prin. Let it not be sweet.
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
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?
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.
Cutting a smaller hair than may be feen:
Seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings; Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, fwifter
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.
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.
Boyet. They will, they will, God knows;
Prin. How, blow? how, blow? fpeak to be under
Boyet. Fair ladies, maskt, are roses in their bud;
Or angel-veiling clouds: are rofes blown,
Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand.
SCENE, before the Princess's Pavilion.
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain,
AIR Sir, God fave you! Where's the Princess?
Please it your Majefty, command me any service
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.