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? yea, as much love in rhime,
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^{9 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 dy'd:
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

Ros.
What's your dark meaning, mouse, 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 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 Biron:
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^{3 note}

Kath.
Pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows^{5 note}

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

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 Biron I'll torture ere I go.
O, that I knew he were but in by the week^{6 note}

Prin.
^{8 note}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.

Prin.
Here comes Boyet, and mirth is 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 St. Cupid^{9 note}! What are they,
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.

Boyet.
Under the cool shade of a sycamore,
I thought to close my 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 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,
That in this spleen ridiculous appears^{1 note},
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 Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess^{2 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,
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 your 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.

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 mock'd, depart away with shame. [Sound.

Boyet.
The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the maskers come. [The ladies mask. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, disguised like Muscovites; Moth with musick, &c.

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

Boyet.
Beauties no richer than rich taffata ^{3 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 with her on this 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^{4 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 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.
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:—
Court'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, (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^{5 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.

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 vizor half.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

Boyet.
Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.

Ros.
Well-liking wits^{6 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 vizors, shew their faces?
This pert Biron was out of countenance quite.

Ros.
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.

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^{7 note}

Prin.
And quick Biron 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.
^{8 note}

Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shewn,
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.

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^{9 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 o'er the land. [Exeunt ladies^{1 note}. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain in their own habits.

King.
Fair Sir, God save you! Where's the princess?

Boyet.
Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty,
Command me any service to her?

King.
That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

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

Biron.
This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas^{2 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, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Boyet, and attendants.

Biron.
See, where it comes!—Behaviour, what wert thou^{6 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 in perjur'd men.

King.
Rebuke me not for that which you provoke;
The virtue of your eye must break my oath^{7 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 unsully'd 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 these 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; 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.—Fair, gentle, sweet,
Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet^{8 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 vizors was it, that you wore?

Biron.
Where? when? what vizor? why demand you this?

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

King.
We are descry'd; they'll mock us now down right.

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 vizor to my friend;
  Nor woo in rhime, like a blind harper's song:
Taffata phrases, silken terms precise,
  Three-pil'd hyperboles^{9 note}
, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical; these summer-flies
  Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
I do forswear them: and I here protest,
  By this white glove, (how white the hand, God knows!)
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
  In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes:
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^{1 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^{2 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^{3 note}
,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?

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?

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 broke once, you force not to forswear^{4 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 Biron, I thank him, is my dear:—
What; will you have me, or your pearl again?

Biron.
Neither of either; I remit both twain.—

I see the trick on't;—Here was a consent^{5 note}

,
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment)
To dash it like a Christmas comedy:
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany^{6 note}

,
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,—
That smiles his cheek in years^{7 note}

^note

Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot ^{9 note}

Boyet.
Full merrily
Hath this brave manage, 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 very 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^{2 note}, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we know:
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,—

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 shew whereuntil it doth amount: for my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man in one poor man; 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^{3 note}.

Biron.
Go, bid them prepare.

Cost.
We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.

King.
Biron, they will shame us, let them not approach. [Exit Costard.

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 know how^{4 note}

Where 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.

Biron.
A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter Armado^{5 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!

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 Macchabæus. And if these four worthies^{6 note}

in their first show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other five.

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:— A bare throw at novum^{7 note}

King.

The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

Enter Costard for Pompey.

Cost.

I Pompey am,—

Boyet.

You lye, 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 surnamed 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 half-penny, Pompey proves the best worthy.

Nath.
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.

Boyet.
Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right* ^note.

Biron.
Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender-smelling knight.

Prin.
The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good Alexander.

Nath.
When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander:—

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

Biron.
Pompey the great,—

Cost.
Your servant, and Costard.

Biron.
Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

Cost.

O, sir, you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! [To Nath.] You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his pollax^{2 note}

Dum.

Hector will challenge him.

Biron.

Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.

Arm.

By the north pole, I do challenge thee.

Cost.

I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; I'll slash; I'll do't by the sword:—I pray you, let me borrow my arms ^{1 note} again.

Dum.

Room for the incensed worthies.

Cost.

I'll do it in my shirt.

Dum.

Most resolute Pompey!

Moth.

Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? you will lose your reputation.

Arm.

Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.

Dum.

You may not deny it; Pompey hath made the challenge.

Arm.

Sweet bloods, I both may and will.

Biron.

What reason have you for't?

Arm.

The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.

Boyet.

True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen^{2 note}

none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that 'a wears next his heart for a favour.

Enter Mercade.

Mer.
God save you, madam!

Prin.
Welcome, Mercade;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

Mer.

I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father—

Prin.

Dead, for my life.

Mer.

Even so: my tale is told.

Biron.

Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud.

Arm.

For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I have seen the days of wrong through the little hole of discretion^{3 note}

King.
How fares your majesty?

Prin.
Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.

King.
Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.

Prin.
Prepare, I say.—I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide,
The ^{4 note}

King.
The extreme parts of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose^{7 note}

That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince^{8 note}

Prin.
I understand you not, my griefs are double.

Biron.
^{9 note}

Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye,
Full of straying shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which party-coated presence of loose love,
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
^{1 note}Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both, fair ladies, you;
And even that falshood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

Prin.
We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Your favours, the embassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
As bombast and as lining to the time^{2 note}

Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

Dum.
Our letters, madam, shew'd much more than jest.

Long.
So did our looks.

Ros.
We did not quote them so^{4 note}

King.
Now, at the latest minute of the hour,
Grant us your loves.

Prin.
A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in:
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and, therefore, this,—

If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust: but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay, until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning:
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine,
I will be thine: and, till that instant, shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house;
Raining the tears of lamentation,
For the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

King.
If this, or more than this, I would deny,
  To flatter up these powers of mine with rest^{5 note}

Biron.
^{6 note}And what to me, my love? and what to me?

Ros.
You must be purged too, your sins are rank^{7 note};
You are attaint with fault and perjury:
Therefore, if you my favour mean to get,
A twelve-month shall you spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick.

Dum.
But what to me, my love? but what to me?

Kath.
A wife!—a beard, fair health, and honesty;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.

Dum.
O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?

Kath.
Not so, my lord;—a twelve-month and a day
I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say:
Come when the king doth to my lady come,
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

Dum.
I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.

Kath.
Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again.

Long.
What says Maria?

Mar.
At the twelve-month's end,
I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.

Long.
I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.

Mar.
The liker you; few taller are so young.

Biron.
Studies my lady? mistress, look on me,
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble suit attends thy answer there;
Impose some service on me for thy love.

Ros.
Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks;

Full of comparisons, and wounding flouts;
Which you on all estates will excute,
That lie within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain;
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won)
You shall this twelve-month term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit^{8 note}
,
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

Biron.
To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be; it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Ros.
Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
Deaf'd with the clamours of their own ^{9 note}

Biron.
A twelve-month? well, befal what will befal,
I'll jest a twelve-month in an hospital ^{1 note}.

Prin.
Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. [To the King.

King.
No, madam; we will bring you on your way.

Biron.
Our wooing doth not end like an old play;
Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy.

King.
Come, sir, it wants a twelve-month and a day,
And then 'twill end.

Biron.
That's too long for a play. Enter Armado.

Arm.

Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,—

Prin.

Was not that Hector?

Dum.

That worthy knight of Troy.

Arm.

I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave: I am a votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three year. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckow? it should have follow'd in the end of our show.

King.

Call them forth quickly, we will do so.

Arm.
Holla! approach.— Enter all, for the song,
This side is Hiems; winter.
This Ver, the spring; the one maintain'd by the owl,
The other by the cuckow.
Ver, begin.