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.

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