Princess.
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?

Pri.
Nothing but this? yes, as much love in rhyme,
As would be cram'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 godhead wax;
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

Cat.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

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

Cat.
He made her melancholy, sad and heavy;
And so she dy'd: had she been light, like you,
Of such a merry, nimble-stirring spirit,
She might have been a grandame ere she dy'd:
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

Ros.
What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?

Cat.
A light condition in a beauty dark.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;We need more light to find your meaning out.

&blquo;Cat.
&blquo;You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff;
&blquo;Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument.

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

&blquo;Cat.
&blquo;So do not you; for you are a light wench.

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

&blquo;Cat.
&blquo;You weigh me not,—O, that's you care not for me.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;Great reason; for, Past cure is still past care.

Pri.
Well bandy'd both; a set of wit well play'd.
But, Rosaline, you have a favour too:
Who sent it? and what is't?

Ros.
I would, you knew:
And if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron:
The numbers true; and, were the numbring 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!

Pri.
Any thing like?

Ros.
Much, in the letters; nothing, in the praise.

&blquo;Pri.
&blquo;Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.

&blquo;Cat.
&blquo;Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;Ware pencils! How? let me not die your debter,
&blquo;My red dominical, my golden letter:
&blquo;O, that your face were not so full of O's!

&blquo;Cat.
&blquo;A pox of that jest! and beshrew all shrows!

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

Cat.
Madam, this glove.

Pri.
Did he not send you twain?

Cat.
Yes, Madam, that he did; and sent, moreover,
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover:
&blquo;A huge translation of hypocrisy,
&blquo;Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity.

Mar.
This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville;
The letter is too long by half a mile.

Pri.
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.

Pri.
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.
&blquo;O, that I knew he were but in by the week!
&blquo;How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek;
&blquo;And wait the season, and observe the times,
&blquo;And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhimes;
&blquo;And shape his service all to my behests;
&blquo;And make him proud to make me proud with jests:
&blquo;So, pageant-like, would I o'er-sway his state,
&blquo;That he should be my fool, and I his fate.

Pri.
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. Enter Boyet.

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

Boy.
O, I am stab'd with laughter!—Where's her grace?

Pri.
Thy news, Boyet?

Boy.
Prepare, madame, prepare!
Arm, wenches, arm!—encounters mounted are
Against your peace: Love doth approach disguis'd,
Armed in arguments; you'll be surpriz'd:
Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

Pri.
Saint Dennis to saint Cupid! What are they,
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.

Boy.
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 over-heard what you shall over-hear;
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
Their herald is a pretty knavish page,
That well by heart hath con'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 clap'd him on the shoulder;
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.

&blquo;One rub'd his elbow thus; and fleer'd, and swore,
&blquo;A better speech was never spoke before:
&blquo;Another, with his finger and his thumb,
&blquo;Cry'd, Via! we will do't; come what will come:
&blquo;The third he caper'd, and cry'd, All goes well:
&blquo;The fourth turn'd on the toe; and down he fell:
&blquo;With that, they all did tumble on the ground;
&blquo;With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
&blquo;That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
&blquo;To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.

Pri.
But what, but what, come they to visit us?

Boy.
They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus,
Like Muscovites, or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance:
And every one his love-seat will advance
Unto his several mistress; which they'll know
By favours several, which they did bestow* ^note

Pri.
And will they so? the gallants shall be taskt,
For, ladies, we will every one be maskt;
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despight 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† ^note.

Ros.
Come on then; wear the favours most in sight.

Cat.
But, in this changing, what is your intent?

Pri.
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?

Pri.
No, to the death we will not move a foot:
Nor to their pen'd speech render we no grace;
But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face.

Boy.
Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart,
And quite divorce his memory from his part.

Pri.
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'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 within.

Boy.
The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the maskers come. Flourish. Enter, in Russian Habits, and mask'd, the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain; with Moth, Musick, and Attendants.

&blquo;Mot.
&blquo;All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!

&blquo;Boy.
&blquo;Beauties no richer than rich taffata.

&blquo;Mot.
&blquo;A holy parcel of the fairest dames, [the Ladies turn their Backs to him.
&blquo;That ever turn'd their—backs—to mortal views!

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;Their eyes, villain, their eyes.

&blquo;Mot.
&blquo;That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views!
&blquo;Out—

&blquo;Boy.
&blquo;True; out, indeed.

&blquo;Mot.
&blquo;Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe
&blquo;Not to behold—

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;Once to behold, rogue.

&blquo;Mot.
&blquo;Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes
  &blquo;&lblank;with your sun-beamed eyes—

&blquo;Boy.
&blquo;They will not answer to that epithet;
&blquo;You were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes.

&blquo;Mot.
&blquo;They do not mark me, and that brings me out.

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue. [Moth withdraws.

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.

Boy.
What would you with the princess?

Bir.
Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation.

Ros.
What would they, say they?

Boy.
Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation.

Ros.
Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.

Boy.
She says you have it, and you may be gone.

Kin.
Say to her, we have measur'd many miles,
To tread a measure with her on this grass.

Boy.
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 eas'ly told.

Boy.
If, to come hither, you have measur'd miles,
And many miles; the princess bids you tell,
How many inches doth fill up one mile.

Bir.
Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.

Boy.
She hears herself.

Ros.
How many weary steps, [advancing.
Of many weary miles, you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile?

Bir.
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 sun-shine of your face,
That we, like savages, may worship it.

Ros.
My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

Kin.
Blessed are clouds, that do as such clouds do!
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our wat'ry eyne.

Ros.
O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'st but moon-shine in the water.

Kin.
Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change:
Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange.

Ros.
Play, musick, then: Nay, you must do it soon. [Musick: and they make ready, as to dance.
Not yet; no dance; thus change I like the moon.

Kin.
Will you not dance? how come you thus estrang'd?

Ros.
You took the moon at full; but now she's chang'd.

&blquo;Kin.
&blquo;The musick plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;Our ears vouchsafe it.

&blquo;Kin.
&blquo;But your legs should do it.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;Since you are strangers, and come here by chance,
&blquo;We'll not be nice: take hands;—we will not dance.

&blquo;Kin.
&blquo;Why take we hands then?

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;Only to part friends:—
&blquo;Court'sy, sweet hearts;—and so the measure ends.

&blquo;Kin.
&blquo;More measure of this measure; be not nice.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;We can afford no more at such a price.

&blquo;Kin.
&blquo;Prize yourselves then; What buys your company?

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;Your absence only.

&blquo;Kin.
&blquo;That can never be.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;Then cannot we be bought: And so adieu;
&blquo;Twice to your visor, and half once to you!

Kin.
If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.

Ros.
In private then. [converse apart.

Bir.
White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.

Pri.
Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.

Bir.
Nay, then, two treys, (an if you grow so nice)
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey;—Well run, dice!—
There's half a dozen sweets.

Pri.
Seventh sweet, adieu!
Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.

Bir.
One word in secret.

Pri.
Let it not be sweet.

Bir.
Thou griev'st my gall.

Pri.
Gall? bitter.

Bir.
Therefore meet. [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. [converse apart.

Cat.
What, was your visor made without a tongue?

Lon.
I know the reason, lady, why you ask.

Cat.
O, for your reason! quickly, Sir; I long.

Lon.
You have a double tongue within your mask,

And would afford my speechless visor half.

Cat.
Veal, quoth the Dutchman;—Is not veal a calf?

Lon.
A calf, fair lady?

Cat.
No, a fair lord calf.

Lon.
Let's part the word.

Cat.
No, I'll not be your half:
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.

Lon.
Look, how you but yourself in these sharp mocks;
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

Cat.
Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

Lon.
One word in private with you, ere I die.

Cat.
Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry. [converse apart.

Boy.
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,
* ^noteFleeter than arrows, wind, thought, swifter things.

Ros.
Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off. [breaking from the King.

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

Kin.
Adieu, mad wenches; you have simple wits.

Pri.
Twenty adieu's, my frozen Muscovites.— [Exeunt King, and his Lords; Moth, Mus. and Att.
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at?

Boy.
Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puft out.

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

&blquo;Pri.
&blquo;O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!
&blquo;Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?
  &blquo;Or ever, but in visors, shew their faces?
&blquo;This pert Biron was out of count'nance quite.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;O, they were all in lamentable cases!
&blquo;The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Pri.
Biron did swear himself out of all suit.

Mar.
Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
  No point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute.

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

Pri.
Qualm, perhaps.

Cat.
Yes, in good faith.

Pri.
Go, sickness as thou art!

Ros.
Well, better wits have worn plain statute caps.
But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.

Pri.
And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.

Cat.
And Longaville was for my service born.

Mar.
Dumain is mine as sure as bark on tree.

Boy.
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.

Pri.
Will they return?

Boy.
They will, they will, Heav'n 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.

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

Boy.
Fair ladies, maskt, are roses in their bud;
Dismaskt, their damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels 'vailing clouds, or roses blown.

Pri.
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;
And wonder, what they were; and to what end
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely pen'd,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our tent to us.

Boy.
Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand.

Pri.
Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er the land. [Exeunt Princess, Cat. Ros. and Mar. Re-enter, in their proper Habits, the King, attended; Dumain, Biron, Longaville, and Others.

Kin.
Fair Sir, Heav'n save you! Where's the princess?

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

Command me any service to her thither?

Kin.
That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

Boy.
I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. [Exit Boyet.

Bir.
This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons pease;
And utters it again, when Heav'n doth please:
He is wit's pedlar; 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:
A' can carve too, and lisp: Why, this is he
That kist his hand away 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 shew his teeth as white as whale his bone:
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongu'd Boyet.

Kin.
A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,
That put Armado's page out of his part! Re-enter the Princess, Boyet ushering her, Maria, Catherine, Rosaline, and Attendants.

Bir.
See, where it comes!—Behaviour, what wert thou,
'Till this man shew'd thee? and what art thou now?

Kin.
All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!

Pri.
Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive.

Kin.
Construe my speeches better, if you may.

Pri.
Then wish me better, I will give you leave.

Kin.
We came to visit you; and purpose now
To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it then.

Pri.
This field shall hold me; and so hold your vow:
Nor Heav'n, nor I, delights in perjur'd men.

Kin.
Rebuke me not for that which you provoke;
The virtue of your eye must break my oath.

Pri.
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 unsully'd lilly, 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.

Kin.
O, you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.

Pri.
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.

Kin.
How, madam? Russians?

Pri.
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 were with four
In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace; but, 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.

Bir.
This jest is dry to me.—Fair gentle sweet,
Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we greet
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,—

Bir.
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.

Bir.
O, I am yours, and all that I possess.

Ros.
All the fool mine?

Bir.
I cannot give you less.

Ros.
Which of the visors was it, that you wore?

Bir.
Where? when? what visor? why demand you this?

Ros.
There, then, that visor; that superfluous case,
That hid the worse, and shew'd the better face.

Kin.
We are descry'd; they'll mock us now downright.

Dum.
Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.

Pri.
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* ^note.

Bir.

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 with thee never more to dance,
  Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
&blquo;O, never will I trust to speeches pen'd,
  &blquo;Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue;
&blquo;Nor never come in visor to my friend;
  &blquo;Nor woo in rhime, like a blind harper's song:
&blquo;Taffata phrases, silken terms precise,
  &blquo;Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation,
&blquo;Figures pedantical; these summer flies
  &blquo;Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
&blquo;I do forswear them: and I here protest† ^note,
  By this white glove, (how white the hand, Heav'n knows)
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be exprest
  In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench,—so Heav'n help me, la!—
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;Sans, sans, I pray you.

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;Yet I have a trick
&blquo;Of the old rage:—bear with me, I am sick;

&blquo;I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see,—
&blquo;Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
&blquo;They are infected, in their hearts it lies,
&blquo;They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
&blquo;These lords are visited; you are not free,
&blquo;For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.

&blquo;Pri.
&blquo;No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;It is not so; For how can this be true,
&blquo;That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;Peace; for I will not have to do with you.

&blquo;Ros.
&blquo;Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end. [To his Friends, retiring.

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

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

Kin.
Madam, I was.

Pri.
And were you well advis'd?

Kin.
I was, fair madam.

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

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

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

Kin.
Upon mine honour, no.

Pri.
Peace, peace, forbear;
Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.

Kin.
Despise me when I break this oath of mine.

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

Ros.
Madam, he swore, that he did love 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.

Pri.
Heav'n give thee joy of him! the noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.

Kin.
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.

Kin.
My faith, and this, the princess I did give;
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

Pri.
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?

Bir.
Neither of either; I remit both twain.—
* ^noteI see the trick on't,—Here was a consent,
Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
&blquo;To dash it like a Christmas comedy:
&blquo;Some carry-tale, some please-man, some zany,
&blquo;Some mumble-news, some trencher knight, some Dick,—
&blquo;That smiles his cheek in years; and knows the trick
&blquo;To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd,—
&blquo;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 Boy.
Forestal 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 shrowd.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden sword.

Boy.
Full merrily
Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.

Bir.
Lo, he is tilting straight!—Peace; I have done.— Enter Costard.
Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.

Cos.
O lord, Sir, they would know,
Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no.

Bir.
What, are there but three?

Cos.
No, Sir; but it is vara fine,

For every one pursents three.

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;And three times thrice is nine.

&blquo;Cos.
&blquo;Not so, Sir; under correction, Sir; I hope, it is not so:
&blquo;You cannot beg us, Sir, I assure you, Sir; we know what we know:
&blquo;I hope, Sir, three times thrice, Sir,—

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;Is not nine.

&blquo;Cos.
&blquo;Under correction, Sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

&blquo;Bir.
&blquo;By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

&blquo;Cos.

&blquo;O lord, Sir, it were pity you should get your living by reck'ning, Sir.&brquo;

&blquo;Bir.

&blquo;How much is it?&brquo;

&blquo;Cos.

&blquo;O lord, Sir, the parties themselves, the actors, Sir, will shew whereuntil it doth amount:&brquo; for mine own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man in one poor man; Pompion the great, Sir.

Bir.

Art thou one of the worthies?

Cos.

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.

Bir.
Go, bid them prepare.

Cos.
We will turn it finely off, Sir, we will take some care. [Exit Costard.

Kin.
Biron, they will shame us; let them not approach.

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

Kin.
I say, they shall not come.

Pri.
Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now;
That sport most pleases, that doth least know how:
When zeal strives to content, and the contents
Dies in the zeal of that which it presents,
There form confounded makes most form in mirth;
When great things labouring perish in their birth.

Bir.
A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter Armado.

Arm.

Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.

Pri.

Doth this man serve Heav'n?

Bir.

Why ask you?

Pri.

He speaks not like a man of Heav'n's making.

Arm.

That is all one, my fair sweet honey monárch: 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!

Kin.

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 Machabeus:

Bir.
There is five in the first shew.

Kin.
You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.

Bir.

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

Kin.
The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. Pageant of the nine Worthies. Flourish. Enter, arm'd and accouter'd, his Scutcheon born before him, Costard for Pompey.

Cos.
I Pompey am,—

Bir.
You lie, you are not he.

Cos.
I Pompey am,—

Boy.
With Libbard's head on knee.

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

* ^noteCos.
I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,—

Dum.
The great.

Cos.
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. [Does his Obeisance to the Princess.
If your ladyship would say, ‘thanks, Pompey,’ I had done.

Pri.

Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cos.

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

Bir.
My hat to a half-penny, Pompey proves the best worthy. [Flourish. Enter, arm'd, &c. Nathaniel, for Alexander† ^note.

Nat.
When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander;
  By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might.
My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander;—

Boy.
Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.

Bir.
Your nose smells, no, in his, most tender-smelling knight.

Pri.
The conqueror is dismay'd:—Proceed, good Alisander.

Nat.
When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander;—

Boy.
Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.

Bir.

Pompey the great,—

Cos.

Your servant, and Costard.

Bir.

Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

Cos.

O, Sir, [to Nat.] you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scrap'd out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his polax sitting on a close-stool, will he given to A-jax; he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander.—[Nat. retires.] There, an't shall please you! a foolish mild man; and honest man, look you, and soon dash'd! He is a marvelous good neighbour, in sooth; and a very good bowler: but for Alisander,

—alas! you see, how 'tis; a little o'er-parted: But there are worthies a coming, will speak their mind in some other sort.

Pri.

Stand aside, good Pompey.