KING, reading.

“So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
  “To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
“As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
  “The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows;
“Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
  “Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
“As doth thy face through tears of mine give light:
  “Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep;
“No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,
  “So ridest thou triumphing in my woe;
“Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
  “And they thy glory, through my grief will shew.”
But do not love thyself, then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O queen of queens, how far dost thou excell!
No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell.
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper;
Sweet leaves shade folly. [Exit.

BIRON, dressed like Costard.

I thought I saw the king sneak by this way— What have we here?

So! so! is his majesty turned ballad-maker, for a black ey'd wench: fie on philosophy! and mortal greatness! but here comes another with the true melancholy step of a despairing lover.

DUMAIN, BIRON.

DUMAIN.

O my good knave Costard, exceedingly well met!

BIRON.

Pray you, Sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?

DUMAIN.

What is a remuneration?

BIRON.

Marry, Sir, half-penny farthing.

DUMAIN.
O, why then three farthings worth of silk.

BIRON.
I thank your worship, God be with you.

DUMAIN.
O stay, slave, I must employ thee,
As thou wilt win my favour, my good knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

BIRON.
When would you have it done, Sir?

DUMAIN.
O, this afternoon.

BIRON.
Well, I will do it, Sir: fare you well.

DUMAIN.
O, thou knowest not what it is.

BIRON.
I shall know, Sir, when I have done it.

DUMAIN.
Why, villain, thou must know first.

BIRON.
I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

DUMAIN.
It must be done this afternoon:
Hark, slave, it is but this:
The princess comes to hunt here in the park:
And in her train there is a gentle lady;
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
And Catherine they call her, ask for her,
And to her sweet hand see thou do commend
This seal'd up counsel.—Put this in thy purse. [Exit.

BIRON.

Ha! ha! ha! this is excellent.—I shall become a dove to mighty Venus—and have all my feathers thus tipt with gold.—What another fool!

LONGAVILLE.
Knowest thou, friend, the queen's attendants?

BIRON.
Her fools, meanest thou?

LONGAVILLE.
No, no, her fair companions,
Knowest thou, Maria?

BIRON.

A woman!

LONGAVILLE.

Yes, thou simple clown!

BIRON.

O, yes, my lord, I had forgot myself; she is the tallest of the three ladies that attend the princess, except two. Her face is like a magacian's rod, which enchanteth every person, that goes near her. Her eyes—

LONGAVILLE.

Peace, thou varlet!—I must go seek another messenger.

BIRON.
Sir, you may command me.

LONGAVILLE.
Then bear this to her hands,
And as this letter is of high concern,
There's something for thy care.

BIRON.
My pocket's large enough. [Aside.] [Exeunt severally. SCENE II. PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, CATHERINE, BOYET, attendants, and a forester.

PRINCESS.
Was that the king, that spur'd his horse so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?

BOYET.
I know not, but I think it was not he.

PRINCESS.
Whoe'er he was, he shews a mounting mind.
Well, Lords, to day we shall have our dispatch;

On Saturday we will return to France.
Then forester, my friend, where is the bush
That we may stand, and play the murtherer in?

FORESTER.
Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot.

PRINCESS.
Wait, ladies, here; we will dismiss you, lords. [Exeunt Attendants, Forester, &c.
So now we're private, to confer at large;
Well, Rosaline, is Biron full of love?
Wooes he with real anguish, or does he mock
The flame, that Cupid kindled in his breast?
Is he a zealous courtier?

ROSALINE.
Shou'd I reveal the language of his heart,
Or speak the soft emotions of his eye,
Should I repeat, how much he prais'd my charms,
You wou'd esteem me vain.

PRINCESS.
Trust not the glossing tongues of book-read men,
Believe me, Rosaline, they take a pride
To feed the affectation of our sex;
They understand our cunning and our arts,
And varnish o'er our follies, to expose us.

ROSALINE.
Believe me, madam, Biron is my slave,
He has no will, but I have power to guide;
He has no joy, but when I deign to smile,
He has no oath, but what he swears to me.

MARIA.
Indeed, fair Rosaline, we cannot boast
A triumph so compleat; we are content
With a more moderate love.—But, who is this?

Enter BIRON, dressed like Costard.

BIRON.

Pray, you, which is the head lady?

PRINCESS.

Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

BIRON.

Which is the greatest lady, the Princess?

PRINCESS.

I am, Sir, what's your pleasure?

BIRON.

The king, madam, does commend this to your fair hand.—Pray, which of you, ladies, is called Maria?

MARIA.

Maria, Sir, is my name.

BIRON.

Then Longaville, madam, begs your care of this. Pray which is Rosaline?

ROSALINE.

I am, Sir.

BIRON.

Rosaline! no Catherine, I think it is; a packet from Dumain.—

CATHERINE.

That, Sir, belongs to me.

ROSALINE.

Well, Sir, and where is mine?

BIRON.

Madam, I have nor more.

ROSALINE.

What! none from Biron? perhaps he means to wait on me himself.

BIRON.

No, madam, he is even now at his study; he says, he cannot waste his precious time with toys and women.

PRINCESS.
How, Rosaline! is it come to this?
Wait, fellow, without.

BIRON.
I shall make free to listen. [Aside.]

PRINCESS.
The king writes in a most loving strain,
So does Dumain, I guess, and Longaville,
But Biron is no rhymester?

MARIA.
Yet he is Rosaline's obedient slave.

CATHERINE.
Who has no will, but what's she's pleased to grant.

MARIA.
Who has no joy, but when she deigns to smile.

CATHERINE.
Who has no oath, but what he swears to her.

ROSALINE.
Well, laugh on ladies—it is mighty well—
Think you, I want him for a lover? No.
It hurts me not.

PRINCESS.
We'll joke with Rosaline another time.
Come, let us hear how well Dumain can write.

CATHERINE. reads.
“On a day (alack, the day!)
“Love, whose month is every May,
“Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
“Playing in the wanton air:
“Through the velvet leaves the wind,
“All unseen, 'gan passage find;
“That the lover, sick to death,
“Wish'd himself the Heaven's breath.
“Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow;
“Air, would I might triumph so!
“But, alack, my hand is sworn,
“Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
“Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
“Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
“Do not call it, sin in me,
“That I am forsworn in thee:
“Thou, for whom e'en Jove wou'd swear,
“Juno but an Ethiope were;
“And deny himself for Jove,
“Turning mortal for thy love.”

PRINCESS.
So very loving is the king to me.

MARIA.
And Longaville in such a strain implores
My special favours—can we deny their suits?

PRINCESS.
Can we deny? yes, surely, with a grace;
This is some merry mock'ry of their wit,
To laugh at our weak womanhood, to try
The bent and scope of our affections.

ROSALINE.
Madam, most certain, some paltry frolick,
To rouse your inclinations for a time,
To wake the tender feelings in your hearts,
Then, when the grave and solemn fit comes on,
To quit you for their old philosophy.—

BIRON.
How like an angel she talks! [Aside.]

PRINCESS.
Can Rosaline advise us how to act,
So blasted in the budding of her love?
Can Rosaline, so blooming in her charms,
See thro' the art of Biron, once her slave,
As to forget her conquest, and her love?
Can she without a sigh this palace quit?
Navarre how chang'd, within a minute's time!

CATHERINE.
Come, Rosaline, for we must learn of you,
How shall we answer these fair greetings?

ROSALINE.
I value not your jokes; e'en as you please.
I must not shew them that my pride is touch'd. [Aside.]

PRINCESS.
We will return them—that's the maiden's form,
Whate'er we wish, we must disguise our thoughts,
'Tis wisdom to conceal, where knowledge wou'd
Betray our weakness. You fellow there— [Biron from behind the scene.]
Here, tell the king, your master, I came not
On such an embassy, as this scroll imports;
I came not to be wooed.—

CATHERINE.
Nor I, to listen to the amorous fit
Of gay Dumain.

MARIA.
Nor I, to break the rest of Longaville.

BIRON.
Nor you, that Biron should forswear himself.

ROSALINE.
Peace, varlet!—

BIRON.
How prettily the little rogue blushes— [Aside.]

PRINCESS.
Tell him moreover, that we do expect
This day our dispatch—You may retire. [Exit Biron.
Now, ladies, we're prepar'd to act our parts:
If they do mean us fair, we may consent;
If not, we are but as we were; but yet the eye
Should not disclose the smallest intimation
Of our own heart's desire.—Well, Rosaline,
Art thou too fix'd—to think no more of Biron?

CATHERINE.
O, madam, he hath made her melancholy,
Sad and heavy; had she been light, like me,
Of such a nimble, merry, stirring spirit,
She might have been a grandam e'er she dy'd.

MARIA.
She may be still, good Catherine.

PRINCESS.
Away, away, to our pavilion strait.

SCENE III. Near the pavilion. BIRON, JAQUENETTA.

BIRON.

Peace to thee, fair damsel!

JAQUENETTA.

What! Costard again! I thought you would have been hang'd before this: how can you have the impudence to look at a woman, knowing it is forbid?

BIRON.

A pretty smart wench, i'faith—Why, my dear, who can be so near the sun, and not feel its influence?

JAQUENETTA.

What a wonderful improvement is there in study! how a few hours can alter a man!

BIRON.

My little queen, it is to your charms we owe all our knowledge; it is to your beauty we—

JAQUENETTA.

Pray, Sir, keep your distance.

BIRON.

Why so coy?

JAQUENETTA.

Come no nearer, or I will leave you—keep to your court virtues, Sir.

BIRON.

Nay, if you are at your jokes, it is thus I claim you.—

COSTARD.

Softly, Costard, softly; you are not upon such firm ground as you may imagine; you will never be good at a plot, thou rogue, till you have learnt to creep upon all fours.—Nay, may I be whip'd, if I do not sweat, going this pace.—What! hoa! Jaquenetta!

BIRON.

Who are you, Sir?

COSTARD.

Costard! who are you, Sir?

BIRON.

Costard.

COSTARD.

Costard! I am sure I am Costard, and belong to the king's court.

BIRON.

And I am sure, I am Costard, and wait on his majesty here in his retirement.

COSTARD.

You, Costard! you are something like him, indeed; but I am sure I am the right Costard.—

BIRON.

You impudent dog! say again your name is Costard, and your life is not worth a pin.—

COSTARD.

I only say, Sir, I believe I am Costard, if I am not Costard, pray who am I?

BIRON.

Am I to find a name for you, honest friend?

COSTARD.

I think that but reasonable, since you have taken away mine.

BIRON.

What! you will provoke me?

COSTARD.

Hold, pray, Sir, hold; I am not Costard—I am not Costard, I am—

BIRON.

What are you, Sir?

COSTARD.

I am—I am, what you please to call me—

BIRON.

Let this fair damsel judge betwixt us; what say you, Jaquenetta?

JAQUENETTA.

Let me look at thee—[turning to Costard] thou hast simplicity enough to be a fool.

COSTARD.

Yes I am simple enough in conscience.

JAQUENETTA.

Now a peep at you, Sir, [turning to Biron] why you are so like one another, you are certainly brothers.

BIRON.

Yes, as my brother says, we are simple enough in conscience.

JAQUENETTA.

Ha! ha! ha! but to whom did I deliver the instructions from the princess?

COSTARD.

To me, by the same token you laugh'd at me for turning my back to you.

JAQUENETTA.

There you are right.

COSTARD.

Nay more, you may remember I told you, I should be hang'd for touching a woman, and you said you wou'd buy a rope for me.

JAQUENETTA.

Why then, you are Costard.

COSTARD.

Yes, I am Costard; I am glad I have found my name.

BIRON.

Hold, Sir; this rises not to a proof; you might have heard as much, did you deliver those instructions to the king?

COSTARD.

Yes, marry, that I did the self-same hour.

BIRON.

What said his majesty?

COSTARD.

Nothing.

BIRON.

Nothing! ha! ha! ha! Now, Jaquenetta, I will convince you, that I am Costard.—When I deliver'd the instructions to the king—he smil'd—for you must know Jaquenetta, that arch rogue Cupid had shot him through the heart—then he read a little, and smil'd again—then he enquired by what means I came by that paper. I told him Jaquenetta brought it: he smil'd a third time, and sent this for you.

JAQUENETTA.

Indeed, you are the right Costard; I am now thoroughly satisfied.

BIRON.

So there is no proof like this! what a cunning gipsey it is!—[Aside.] Come, Jaquenetta, I'll attend you, and let us leave this honest fellow to find out his name—if he can—ha! ha! ha!

JAQUENETTA.

Ha! ha! ha!