Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.
Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
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!
Kath. A pox of that jest! and beshrew all
shrows!

Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Dumain?

Kath. Madam, this glove.
Prin.

Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.
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 clapp'd him on the
shoulder;

Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
One rubb'd his elbow, thus; and fleer'd, and

swore,

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 gaville;

The letter is too long by half a mile.

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.

Prin. We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so. Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.

That same Biron I'll torture ere I go.

O, that I knew he were but in by the week!
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek;
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes;
And shape his service wholly to my behests;
And make him proud to make me proud that
jests!

So potent-like would I o'ersway his state,
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.
Prin None are so surely caught, when they
are catch'd,

As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd,
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school;
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.
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, As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; Since all the power thereof it doth apply, To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her grace?

Prin. Thy news, Boyet? Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare!Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are Against your peace: Love doth approach disguised,

Armed in argument; you'll be surpris'd; Muster your wits: stand in your own defence: Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. Prin. Saint Dennis to saint 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 mine eyes some half an hour:
When lo! to interrupt my purpos'd rest,
Toward that shade I might behold addrest
The king and his companions: warily

I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
And overheard what you shall overhear;
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
Their herald is a pretty knavish page,
That well by heart hath coun'd his embassage:
Action, and accent, did they teach him there;
Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear;
And ever and anon they made a doubt,
Presence majestical would put him out;

For quoth the king, an angel shalt thou see;

us ?

Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus,

Like Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess,
The purpose is to parle, to court, and dance:
And every one his love feat will advance
Unto his several mistress; which they'll know
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 not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face.-
Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear;
And then the king will court thee for his dear;
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me
thine;

So shall Biron take me for Rosaline.

And change you favours too; so shall your loves Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.

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 t They do it but in mocking merriment; And mock for mock is only my intent." Their several counsels they unbosom shall To loves mistook; and so be mock'd withal, Upon the next occasion that we meet, With visages display'd, to talk, and greet. 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 speak

er'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'er-
thrown;

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.
[Trumpets sound within.
Boyet. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the;
maskers come.
[The ladies mask.

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in Russian habits, and masked; Moth, Musicians and Attendants.

Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!

Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffata. Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames, [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.

Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe

gone.

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.

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 show 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

soon.

Mar.

Fair lady,

Say you so? Fair lord,Take that for your fair lady. Dum. Please it you,

As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

[They converse apart. Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue?

Long. I know the reason lady, why you ask.
Kath. O, for your reason! quickly, sir; I long.
Long. You have a double tongue within your
mask,

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. Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!

Wil! you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so. Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns dc

As is the razor's edge invisible, Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen;

Above the sense of sense: so sensible Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings,

Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.

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

Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!

King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have sim. ple wits. [Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, Musick and Attendants. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.❤❤❤ Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.

Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross fat, fat.

Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!

Kath. And Longaville was for my service born. Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. Boyet Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: Immediately they will again be here

In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digest 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 sweet roses in the summer air.

Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be understood.

Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud:

Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown,

Are angels veiling clouds, or roses blown.

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo?
Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them still, as well known, as dis-
guis'd,

Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;
And wonder, what they were; and to what end
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our tent to us.
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at
hand.

Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. [Exeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their proper habits.

King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is the princess?

Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty,

Command me any service to her thither? King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.
Exit.
Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons
peas:

And utters it again when Jove doth please:
He is wit's pedler; and retails his wares
At wakes and wassels, meetings, markets, fairs:
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show."
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve:
He can carve too, and lisp; Why, this is he,
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice

In honourable terms; nay, he can sing
A mean most meanly; and, in ushering,
Mend him who can: the ladies call him, sweet:
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet:
This is the flower that smiles on every one,
To show his teeth as white as whales bone:
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.
King. A blister on his sweet tongue with my
heart,

That put Armado's page out of his part!
Enter the Princess, usher'd by Boyet; Rosaline,
Maria, Katharine, and Attendants.

Biron. See where it comes !-Behaviour, what wert thou,

Till this man show'd thee 7 and what art thou now?

King, All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!

Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave.

King. We came to visit you; and purpose now To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it then. Prin. This field shall hold me: and so hold

your vow:

Nor God, nor 1, delight in perjur'd men. King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke;

The virtue of your eye must break my oath. Prin. You nick-name virtue: vice you should have spoke:

For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unsullied lily, I protest,

A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest;
So much I hate a breaking-cause to be
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
Prin. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;
We have had pastimes here, and pleasant
game;

A mess of Russians left us but of late.
King. How, madam? Russians?
Prin.
Ay, in truth, my lord;
Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.
Ros. Madam, speak true:-It is not so, my
lord;

My lady (to the manner of the days,)
In courtesy, gives undeserving praise
We four, indeed, confronted here with four
In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
1 dare not call them fools: but this I think,
They did not bless us with one happy word
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have
drink.

Biron. This jest is dry to me.-Fair, gentle sweet,

Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet

1

With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light: Your capacity
Is of that nature, that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but

poor.

Ros. This proves you wise and rich; for in my eye,

Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. Ros. But that you take what doth to you be long,

It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. Ros. All the fool mine?

Biron. I cannot give you less.

Ros. Which of the visors was it, that you wore 1 Biron. Where? when? what visor? why de mand you this?

Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous

case,

That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. King. We are descried: they'll mock us now downright.

Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your highness sad?

Ros. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale?

Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.

Can any face of brass hold longer out 7-
Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me;
Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a
flout;

Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance,

Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O! never will I trust to speeches penn'd,
Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue;
Nor ever come in visor to my friend;

Nor woo in rhyme like a blind harper's song; Taffata phrases, silken terms precise,

Three pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical; these summer-flies

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation: I do forswear them, and I here protest,

By this white glove, (how white the hand, God knows!)

Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes:
And to begin, wench,-so God help me, la !-
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Ros. Sans sans, I pray you.
Biron.
Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage:-bear with me, I am sick;
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see ;-
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lies,
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are visited: you are not free,
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.

Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens

to us.

Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord Most honourably doth uphold his word. King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth,

I never swore this lady such an oath.

Ros. By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain,

You gave me this: but take it, sir, again. King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give;

I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear :What; will you have me, or your pearl again? Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain.I see the trick on't:-Here was a consent, (Knowing aforehand of our merriment,) To dash it like a Christmas comedy: Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,

Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,

That smiles his cheek in jeers; and knows the trick

To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, .
Told our intents before; which once disclos'd,
The ladies did change favours; and then we,
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn; in will and error
Much upon this it is:-And might not you,

[To Boyet

Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our page out: Go, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden sword.
Boyet.
Full merrily
Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; 1
have done.

Enter Costard.

Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.
Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know,
Whether the three worthies shall come in or no.
Biron. What, are there but three?
Cost.
No, sir; but it is vara fine,
For every one pursents three.
Biron.

And three times thrice is nine. Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope, it is not so:

You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you; sir; we know what we know;

I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,-
Biron.
Is not nine.
Cost. Under correction, sir, we know where
until it doth amount.

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir.

Biron. How much is it?

Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man,-e'en one poor man; Pompion the great, sir.

Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?

Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of Pompion the great: for mine own part, 1 know not the degree of the worthy; but I am to stand

for him.