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Biron. Is this your perfectnefs? be gone, you rogue,
If they do fpeak our language, 'tis our Will
Boyet. What would you with the Princess?
Boyet. Nothing, but peace and gentle vifitation.
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 meafur'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 you tell,
How many inches doth fill up one mile?
Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. Boyet. She hears her self.
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
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 ftars, to shine (Thofe clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.
Rof. O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter; Thou now requeft'ft but moon-shine in the water.
King. Then in our measure vouchfafe 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, vouchsafe some motion to it. Rof. Our ears vouchsafe it.
King. But your legs fhould do it.
Raf. Since you are strangers, and come here by
We'll not be nice; take hands;
— we will not dance.
King. Why take you hands then!
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 visor, and half once to you.
King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
King. I am beft pleas'd with That.
Biron. White-handed mistress, 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,
Methegline, wort, and malmfey ;- well run, dice: There's half a dozen fweets.
Prin. Seventh fweet, adieu
Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.
Biron. One word in fecret.
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 your fair lady.
Dum. Please it you;
As much in private; and I'll bid adieu.
Cath. What, was your vifor 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 speechlefs 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
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.
Long. Look, how you butt your felf in these sharp 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
Rof. Not one word more, my maids ; break off, break off.
Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with
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?
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 to me.
In their own shapes; for it can never be,
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 fweet roses, in this fummer air.
Prin. How, blow? how, blow? fpeak to be underftood.
Boyet. Fair ladies, maskt, are rofes in their bud;
Vo L. II.
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
to her ?
King. That the vouchsafe 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.