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

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 meafur'd many a mile,

To tread a measure with you on this grafs.

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 eafily told.

Boyet. If to come hither you have measur'd miles,
And many miles; the Princefs bids you tell,

How many inches doth fill up one mile?

Biron. Tell her we measure them by weary steps.
Boyet. She hears herself.

Rof. How many weary fteps

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 ftill without accompt.
Vouchfafe to fhew the funfhine of your
face,
That we (like favages) may worship it.

you;

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 fars, to shine (Thofe clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.

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

King. Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change;

Thou bid'ft me beg, this begging is not ftrange.

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 fhe's chang'd.

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

King. But your legs fhould do it.

Rof. Since you are ftrangers, and come here by

chance,

We'll not be nice; take hands;

King. Why take you hands then!

Rof. Only to part friends;

we will not dance.

Curt'fie, fweet hearts, and fo the measure ends.
King. More measure of this meafure; be not nice.
Rof. We can afford no more at fuch a price.

King. Prize yourselves then; what buys your company?

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

Methegline, wort, and malmfey;

nice,

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'st 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 vizor 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 fpeechlefs 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 yourself 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

things.

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

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

King. Farewel, 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 cafes.
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 sword:
No, point, quath I; my f
fervant ftrait 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, ficknefs as thou art!

Rof. Well, better wits have worn plain statute caps. you hear? the King is my love fworn.

But will v

Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Cath. And Longaville was for my fervice born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as fure as bark on tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty miftreffes, 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 fweet rofes, in this fummer air,

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

ftood.

Boyet Fair ladies, maskt, are rofes in their bud;

T

VOL. II.

L

Or

Or angel-veiling clouds: are rofes blown,
Difmaskt, their damask sweet Commixture fhewn.
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 Mufcovites, in fhapeless gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their fhallow Shows, and Prologue vilely 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.

A CT V.

SCENE, before the Princess's Pavilion.

F

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

KING.

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

Pleafe it your Majefty, command me any service
to her?

King. That the vouchsafe me audience for one word. Boyet. I will; and fo will fhe, 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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