Enter the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DuMAIN, disguised like Muscovites; MOTH with musick, &c. Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth! [The Ladies turn their Backs to him. That ever turn'd their-backs-to mortal views. Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! Out Boyet. True; out, indeed. 320 Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouch safe Not to behold Biron. Once to behold, rogue. Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, With your sun-beamed eyes Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet; You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes. Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue. 330 Ros. What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet: If they do speak our language, 'tis our will Boyet. Boyet. What would you with the princess? Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Ros. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone. Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. 340 King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles, To tread a measure with her on this grass. Boyet. They say, that they have measur'd many a mile, To tread a measure with you on this grass. Ros. It is not so: 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 do fill up one mile. 350 Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. Boyet. She hears herself. Ros. 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 you; Our duty is so rich, so infinite, That we may do it still without accompt. Vouchsafe to shew the sunshine of your face, That we, like savages, may worship it. Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine (Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne. Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Thou now request'st but moon-shine in the water. King. Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change: Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. soon. 369 Not yet;-no dance :—thus change I like the moon. King. Will you not dance? How come you thus estrang'd? Ros. You took the moon at full; but now she's chang'd. King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The musick plays; vouchsafe some motion to it. Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. King. But your legs should do it. Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. Ros. Your absence only. King. That can never be. Ros. Then cannot we be bought: And so adieu; Twice to your visor, and half once to you! King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. Ros. In private then. King. I am best pleas'd with that. 390 Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three. Biron. Nay then, two treys (an if you grow so nice), Metheglin, wort, and malmsey;-Well run, dice! Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu! Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. Biron. One word in secret. Prin. Let it not be sweet. Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. Prin. Gall? bitter, · Biron. Therefore meet. 400 Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? Mar. Name it. Dum. Fair lady,— Mar. Say you so? Fair lord,— Take that for your fair lady. Dum. Please it you, As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. 3 410 Kath. Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue ? Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. And would afford my speechless visor half. Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman;Is not veal a calf? Long. A calf, fair lady? Kath. No, a fair lord calf. Long. Let's part the word. Kath. No, I'll not be your half: Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox. 420 Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks ! Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry. Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor's edge invisible, Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen; 430 Above the sense of sense: so sensible Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things. Hij Ros |