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—

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 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 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.

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 shew 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* ^note thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.

Ros.
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.

Ros.
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.

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

King.
Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
The musick 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 you hands then?

Ros.
Only to part friends;
Curt'sy, sweet hearts, 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 yourselves then; 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.

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,* ^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.

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 visor 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 yourself 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.

Ros.
Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.

Biron.
By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff.—

King.
Farewel, mad wenches; you have simple wits. [Exeunt King and Lords.

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