But Rosaline, you have a favour too: Ros. I would, you knew: An if my face were but as fair as yours, O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter! 190 Ros. Much, in the letters; nothing, in the praise. Ros. 'Ware pencils! How? let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter: O, that your face were not so full of O's! 199 Kath. Pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows. Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Dumain? Kath. Madam, this glove. Prin. Did he not send you twain ? Kath. Yes, madam; and moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover: A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longa ville; The letter is too long by half a mile, 209 Prin. I think no less; Dost thou not wish in heart, The chain were longer, and the letter short? Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. So. That same Biron I'll torture ere go. O, that I knew he were but in by the week! That he should be my fool, and I his fate. 220 Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd, As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd, Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such excess; As gravity's revolt to wantonness. Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, 230 As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote ; Since all the power thereof it doth apply, To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. Enter Enter BOYET._ Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her grace? Prin. Thy news, Boyet? Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare!— 240 Arm, wenches, arm!-encounters mounted are Prin. Saint Dennis to St. Cupid! What are they, That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say. Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, I thought to close my eyes some half an hour: That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage: 259 260 The The boy reply'd, An angel is not evil; I should have fear'd her, had she been a devil. With that all laugh'd, and clap'd him on the shoulder; One rubb'd his elbow, thus; and fleer'd, and swore, Cry'd, Via! we will do't, come what will come : To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us? Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus, Like Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess, Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance: And every one his love-feat will advance Unto his several mistress; which they'll know 280 By favours several, which they did bestow. Prin. And will they so the gallants shall be task'd: For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ; And And change your favours too ; so shall your loves 291 Ros. Come on then; wear the favours most in sight. Kath. But, in this changing, what is your intent? Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross theirs: They do it but in mocking merriment; And mock for mock is only my intent. 300 Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? Prin. No; to the death, we will not move a foot: Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace; But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face. Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart, And quite divorce his memory from his part. Prin. Therefore I do it; and, I make no doubt, The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown; To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own: So shall we stay, mocking intended game; And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. [Sound. Boyet. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the maskers come. [The Ladies mask. Enter |