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.

Rosa.
Madam, came nothing else along with That?

Prin.
Nothing but this? yes, as much love in rhyme,(39) ^note




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.

Rosa.
That was the way to make his God-head wax,
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

Cath.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

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

Cath.
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 dy'd.
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

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

Cath.
A light condition, in a beauty dark.

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

Cath.
You'll marr the light, by taking it in snuff:
Therefore I'll darkly end the argument.

Rosa.
Look, what you do; and do it still i'th' dark.

Cath.
So do not you, for you are a light wench.

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

Cath.
You weigh me not; O, that's, you care not for me.

Rosa.
Great reason; for past Cure is still past Care.(40) ^note

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?

Rosa.
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.

Prin.
Any thing like?

Rosa.
Much in the letters, nothing in the praise.

Prin.
Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.

Cath.
Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

Rosa.
Ware pencils. How? let me not die your debter,
My red dominical, my golden letter.
O, that your face were not so full of Oes!

Cath.
Pox of that jest, and I beshrew all shrews:(41) ^note

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

Cath.
Madam, this glove.

Prin.
Did he not send you twain?

Cath.
Yes, madam; and moreover,
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover.
A huge translation of hypocrisie,
Vildly 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 for't.

Rosa.
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 th' 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 rhimes,
And shape his service all to my behests,
And make him proud to make me proud with jests:
So Pedant-like would I o'ersway his state,(42) ^note


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.

Rosa.
The blood of youth burns not in such excess,
As gravities revolt to wantonness.

Mar.
Folly in fools bears not so strong a note,
As fool'ry 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 in his face.

Boyet.
O, I am stab'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 surpriz'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 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 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 clap'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 cry'd, 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,(43) ^note




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 apparel'd thus,
Like Moscovites, or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parley, court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress; which they'll know
By Favours sev'ral, which they did bestow.

Prin.
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 suite, 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 your Favours too; so shall your Loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.

Rosa.
Come on then, wear the Favours most in sight.

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

Prin.
Th' 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 councils they unbosom shall
To loves mistook, and so be mockt withal,
Upon the next occasion that we meet
With visages display'd to talk and greet.

Rosa.
But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?

Prin.
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.

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 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 mockt, depart away with shame. [Sound.

Boyet.
The trumpet sounds; be maskt, the maskers come.

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, Dumain, and attendants, disguis'd like Moscovites; Moth with Musick, as for a masquerade.

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

Boyet.
Beauties, no richer than rich taffata.(44) ^note

Moth.
A holy parcel of the fairest dames,
That ever turn'd their backs to mortal views. [The ladies turn their backs to him.

Biron.
Their eyes, villain, their eyes.

Moth.
That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views.
Out—

Biron.
True; out, indeed.

Moth.
Out of your favours, heav'nly 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 epithete;
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.

Rosa.
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.

Rosa.
What would they, say they?

Boyet.
Nothing, but peace and gentle visitation.

Rosa.
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 the grass.

Boyet.
They say, that they have measur'd many a mile,
To tread a measure with you on this grass.

Rosa.
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 doth fill up one mile?

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

Boyet.
She hears her self.

Rosa.
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 shew the sunshine of your face,
That we (like savages) may worship it.

Rosa.
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
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.

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

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

Rosa.
Play, musick, then; nay, you must do it soon.
Not yet? no dance? thus change I, like the moon.

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

Rosa.
You took the moon at full, but now she's chang'd.

King.
Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.(45) ^note


The musick plays, vouchsafe some motion to it

Rosa.
Our ears vouchsafe it

King.
But your legs should do it.

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

King.
Why take you hands then!

Rosa.
Only to part friends;
Curt'sie, sweet hearts, and so the measure ends.

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

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

King.
Prize your selves then; what buys your company?

Rosa.
Your absence only.

King.
That can never be.

Rosa.
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.

Rosa.
In private then.

King.
I am best pleas'd with That.

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

Prin.
Honey, and milk, and sugar, there is three.

Biron.
Nay then, two treys; and if you grow so nice,
Methegline, wort, and malmsey;—well run, dice:
There's half a dozen sweets.

Prin.
Seventh sweet, adieu;
Since you can cog, 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.

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.

Cath.
What, was your vizor made without a tongue?

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

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

Long.
You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless vizor half.

Cath.
Veal, quoth the Dutch man; is not veal a calf?

Long.
A calf, fair lady?

Cath.
No, a fair lord-calf.

Long.
Let's part the word.

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

Long.
Look, how you butt your self in these sharp mocks!
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

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

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

Cath.
Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry.

Boyet.
The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
    As is the razor's edge, invincible,
  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.

Rosa.
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 and Lords.

Prin.
Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Are these the Breed of wits so wondred at?

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

Rosa.
Well-liking wits 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 vizors, shew their faces?
This pert Biron was out of count'nance quite.

Rosa.
O! they were all in lamentable cases.
The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin.
Biron did swear himself out of all suit.

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

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

Prin.
Qualm, perhaps.

Cath.
Yes, in good faith.

Prin.
Go, sickness as thou art!

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

Prin.
And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.

Cath.
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, maskt, are roses in their bud;(46) ^note


Or angel-veiling Clouds: are roses blown,
Dismaskt, their damask sweet Commixture shewn.

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;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their shallow Shows, and Prologue vildly pen'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 o'er the land. [Exeunt.

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