Prin.
Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard

Against the steep uprising of the hill?

Boyet.
I know not; but, I think, it was not he.

Prin.
Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.—
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murderer in^{9 note}

For.
Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot.

Prin.
I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot.

For.
Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.

Prin.
What, what? first praise me, and again say, no?
O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe!

For.
Yes, madam, fair.

Prin.
Nay, never paint me now;
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow;

Here, good my glass^{1 note}

For.
Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

Prin.
See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.—
But come, the how:—Now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
If wounding, then it was to shew my skill,
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes;
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart^{2 note}
:

As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill^{3 note}.

Boyet.
Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty^{4 note}
Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?

Prin.
Only for praise: and praise we may afford
To any lady that subdues a lord. Enter Costard.

Prin.

Here comes a member of the common-wealth^{5 note}

Cost.

God dig-you-den all^{6 note}

Prin.

Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

Cost.

Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

Prin.

The thickest, and the tallest.

Cost.
The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
One of these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.

Prin.
What's your will, sir? what's your will?

Cost.
I have a letter from monsieur Birón, to one lady Rosaline.

Prin.
O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of mine:
Stand aside, good bearer.—Boyet, you can carve;
Break up this capon^{7 note}

Boyet.
I am bound to serve.—
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin.
We will read it, I swear;
Break the neck of the wax^{8 note}

Boyet. [Reads.]

By heaven, that thou art fair,

is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely: More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous; truer^{9 note} than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous and most illustrate^{1 note}

king Cophetua^{2 note}