Prin.
Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,
If fairings come thus plentifully in:
A lady wall'd about with diamonds!—
Look you, what I have from the loving king.

Ros.
Madam, came nothing else along with that?

Prin.
Nothing but this? yes, as much love in rhyme,
As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all;

That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.

Ros.
That was the way to make his god-head wax^{8 note}

Kath.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

Ros.
You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd your sister.

Kath.
He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy;
And so she died: had she been light, like you,
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,
She might have been a grandam ere she died:
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

Ros.
What's your dark meaning, mouse^{9 note}
, of this light word?

Kath.
A light condition in a beauty dark.

Ros.
We need more light to find your meaning out.

Kath.
You'll mar the light, by taking it in snuff^{1 note};
Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument.

Ros.
Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark.

Kath.
So do not you; for you are a light wench.

Ros.
Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.

Kath.
You weigh me not,—O, that's you care not for me.

Ros.
Great reason; for, Past cure is still past care^{2 note}

Prin.
Well bandied both; a set of wit^{3 note}

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 numb'ring 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 in a copy-book.

Ros.
'Ware pencils^{4 note}

O, that your face were not* ^note so full of O's^{5 note}!

Kath.
A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows^{6 note}

Prin.
But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumain^{7 note}
?

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^{8 note}

Prin.
None are so^{3 note} 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^{4 note}.

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. Enter Boyet.

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

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 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 Dennis to saint Cupid^{5 note}

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 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,
A better speech was never spoke before;
Another, with his finger and his thumb,
Cry'd, 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^{6 note}

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^{8 note}

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
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* ^note 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 face^{9 note}.

Boyet.
Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's* ^note 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^{1 note}, 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 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^{2 note}.

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-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.

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^{3 note}

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^{4 note}, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd,) upon our watry eyne.

Ros.
O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'st* ^note but moonshine in the water.

King.
Then, in our measure vouchsafe but† ^note one change:
Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange

Ros.
Play, musick, then: nay, you must do it soon. [Musick plays.
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^{5 note}

The music 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 chance,
We'll not be nice: take hands;—we will not dance.

King.
Why take we hands then?

Ros.
Only to part friends:—
Court'sy, sweet hearts^{6 note}
; and so the measure ends.

King.
More measure of this measure; be not nice.

Ros.
We can afford no more at such a price.

King.
Prize you* ^note yourselves: What buys your company?

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. [They converse apart.

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!
There's half a dozen sweets.

Prin.
Seventh sweet, adieu!
Since you can cog^{7 note}, 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. [They converse apart.

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. [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^{8 note}

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!
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. [They converse apart.

Boyet.
The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
  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^{9 note}.

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 simple 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^{1 note} they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.

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

Will they not, think you, hang themselves to night?
  Or ever, but in visors, show their faces?
This pert Birón was out of countenance quite.

Ros.
O! they were all^{2 note} in lamentable cases!
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin.
Birón did swear himself out of all suit.

Mar.
Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
No point, quoth I^{3 note}

Kath.
Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
And trow you, what he call'd me?

Prin.
Qualm, perhaps.

Kath.
Yes, in good faith.

Prin.
Go, sickness as thou art!

Ros.
Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps^{4 note}

But you will hear? the king is my love sworn.

Prin.
And quick Birón hath plighted faith to me.

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 this 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 vailing clouds, or roses blown^{5 note}

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 disguis'd:
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear^{6 note};
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^{7 note}, 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* ^note?

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^{8 note}

This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve:
He can carve too, and lisp^{1 note}

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? and what art thou now^{4 note}

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 I, delight* ^note in perjur'd men.

King.
Rebuke me not for that which you provoke;
  The virtue of your eye must break my oath^{5 note}.

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^{6 note}
.
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,
They did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.

Biron.
This jest is dry to me.—My gentle sweet^{7 note}

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 belong,
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?

Biron.
Where? when? what visor? why demand 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?—
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 school-boy's tongue;
Nor never come in visor to my friend^{9 note}
;
  Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song:
Taffata phrases, silken terms precise,
  Three-pil'd hyperboles^{1 note}
, spruce affection^{2 note}

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^{3 note}.

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^{4 note}

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

Biron.
Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.

Ros.
It is not so; For how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue^{5 note}
?

Biron.
Peace; for I will not have to do with you.

Ros.
Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

Biron.
Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end.

King.
Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression
Some fair excuse.

Prin.
The fairest is confession.
Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd?

King.
Madam, I was.

Prin.
And were you well advis'd^{6 note}
?

King.
I was, fair madam.

Prin.
When you then were here,
What did you whisper in your lady's ear?

King.
That more than all the world I did respect her.

Prin.
When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.

King.
Upon mine honour, no.

Prin.
Peace, peace, forbear;
Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear^{7 note}

King.
Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.

Prin.
I will; and therefore keep it:—Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

Ros.
Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear
As precious eye-sight; and did value me
Above this world: adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.

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 Birón, I thank him, is my dear:—
What; will you have me, or your pearl again?

Biron.
Neither of either^{8 note}; I remit both twain.—
I see the trick on't;—Here was a consent^{9 note}

,
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment,)
To dash it like a Christmas comedy:
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany^{1 note}



,

Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight^{2 note}

, some Dick,—
That smiles his cheek in jeers^{3 note}

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* ^note:—And might not you^{4 note}

Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire^{5 note}

Boyet.
Full merrily
Hath this brave manage^{7 note}, this career, been run.

Biron.
Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I 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^{8 note}

Biron.
Is not nine.

Cost.

Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil 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^{9 note}; 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, I know not

the degree of the worthy; but I am to stand for him^{1 note}.

Biron.

Go, bid them prepare.

Cost.

We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care. [Exit Costard.

King.
Birón, they will shame us, let them not approach.

Biron.
We are shame-proof, my lord: and 'tis some policy
To have one show worse than the king's and his company.

King.
I say, they shall not come.

Prin.
Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now;
That sport best pleases, that doth least* ^note know how:
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth^{2 note}

Biron.
A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter Armado^{4 note}.

Arm.

Anointed, I implore so much expence of

thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words.

Prin.

Doth this man serve God?

Biron.

Why ask you?

Prin.

He speaks not like a man of God's making.

Arm.

That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch: for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement^{5 note}
!

King.

Here is like to be a good presence of worthies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabæus.

Biron.

There is five in the first show.

King.

You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.

Biron.

The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy:—

King.
The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. [Seats brought for the King, Princess, &c.

Pageant of the Nine Worthies^{9 note}

Cost.
I Pompey am,—

Boyet.
You lie, you are not he.

Cost.
I Pompey am,—

Boyet.
With libbard's head on knee^{1 note}

Biron.

Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee.

Cost.

I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,—

Dum.

The great.

Cost.
It is great, sir;—

Pompey surnam'd the great;
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat:
And, travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance;
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.
If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I had done.

Prin.

Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cost.

'Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect: I made a little fault in, great.

Biron.

My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best worthy.