Ros. Great reason; for, Past cure is still past care.(77) Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd.— But, Rosaline, you have a favour too:

Who sent it? and what is it?

Ros.

I would you knew:

An if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Birón:

The numbers true; and, were the numbering too,
I were the fairest goddess on the ground:
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!
Prin. Any thing like?

Ros. Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.
Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.
Kath. Fair as a text B (78) in a copy-book.

Ros. 'Ware pencils, ho! (79) let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter:

O that

your face were not so full of O's!

Kath.(80) A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows.
Prin. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair
Dumain?(81)

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 Longaville: 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 Birón 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 hests,(82)
And make him proud to make me proud that jests!
So portent-like(83) 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 learnèd fool.

Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such excess

As gravity's revolt to wantonness. (84)

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.

Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.

Enter BOYET.

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

grace?

Prin. Thy news, Boyet?

Boyet.

Prepare, madam, prepare!—

Arm, wenches, arm! encounters(85) mounted are
Against your peace: Love doth approach disguis'd,
Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd:
Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

Prin. Saint Denis 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 conn'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; Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously."

The boy replied, "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
A better speech was never spoke before;

Another, with his finger and his thumb,

Cried, "Via! we will do't, come what will come;"
The third he caper'd, and cried, "All goes well;"
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
With that, they all did tumble on the ground,
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
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 apparell'd thus,Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.

Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance;

And every one his love-suit(86) 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 Birón 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 :

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(87) 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(8) 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.

[Trumpets sound within. Boyet. The trumpet sounds: be mask'd; the maskers [The Ladies mask.

come.

Enter Blackamoors with music; MOTH; the King, BIRON, LONGA

VILLE, and DUMAIN, in Russian habits, and masked.

Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!—
Boyet. (89) Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.
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 Not to behold

Biron. "Once to behold," rogue.

Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamèd eyes,
-with your sun-beamèd eyes—

Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet; You were best call it "daughter-beamèd eyes.'

Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue!

[Exit Moth.
Ros. What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet:
If they do speak our language, 'tis our will
That some plain man recount their purposes:
Know what they would.

Boyet. What would you with the princess?
Biron. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
Ros. What would they, say they?

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.
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

Ros. It is not so.

you on this

grass.

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 shineThose clouds remov'd-upon our watery eyne.