Nath.

I praise God for you, Sir, your Reasons at Dinner have been sharp and sententious; pleasant without Scurrility, witty without Affectation, audacious without Impudency, learned without-Opinion, and strange without Heresie: I did converse this quondam-Day with a Companion of the King's, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

Hol.

Novi hominem tanquem te. His Humour is lofty, his Discourse peremptory, his Tongue filed, his Eye ambitious, his Gate majestical, and his general Behaviour vain, ridiculous, and Thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.

Nath.

A most singular and choice Epithet,

Hol.

He draweth out the Thred of his Verbosity finer than the Staple of his Argument. I abhor such phanatical Phantasms, such insociable and point devise Companions, such Rackers of Orthography, as do speak dout fine, when he should say doubt; det, when he should pronounce debt; d, e, b, t; not det: He clepeth a Calf, Cauf: half, hauf: Neighbour vocatur nebour; neigh abreviated ne: This is abominable, which we would call abominable: It insinuateth me of Infamy: Ne intelligis Domine, to make Frantick, Lunatick.

Nath.

Laus deo, bene intelligo.

Hol.

Bome boon for boon prescian; a little search, 'twill serve.

Enter Armado, Moth and Costard.

Nath.

Vides-ne quis nevit?

Hol.

Video, & gaùdeo.

Arm.

Chirra.

Hol.

Quare Chirra, not Sirra?

Arm.

Men of Peace well incountred.

Hol.

Most Military Sir, Salutation.

Moth.

They have been at a great Feast of Languages, and stole the Scraps.

Cost.

O they have liv'd long on the Alms-basket of Words. I marvel thy Master hath not eaten thee for a Word, for thou art not so long by the Head as Honorificabilitudinitatibus: Thou art easier swallow'd than a Flap-dragon.

Moth.

Peace, the Peal begins.

Arm.

Monsieur, are you not lettered?

Moth.
Yes, yes, he teaches Boys the Horn-book:
What is Ab spelt backward with the Horn on his Head?

Hol.
Ba, pueritia with a Horn added.

Moth.

Ba, most silly Sheep, with a Horn. You hear his Learning.

Hol.

Quis, quis, thou Consonant?

Moth.

The last of the five Vowels, if you repeat them, or the fifth if I.

Hol.

I will repeat them, a e I—

Moth.

The Sheep; the other two concludes it o u.

Arm.

Now by the salt Wave of the Mediteraneum, a sweet Tutch, a quick Venew of Wit; snip snap, quick and home; it rejoiceth my Intellect; true Wit.

Moth.

Offer'd by a Child to an old Man: which is Wit-old.

Hol.

What is the Figure? What is the Figure?

Moth.

Horns.

Hol.

Thou disputest like an Infant; go, whip thy Gigg.

Moth.

Lend me your Horn to make one, and I will whip about your Infamy unum cita, a Gigg of a Cuckold's Horn.

Cost.

And I had but one Penny in the World, thou shouldst have it to buy Ginger-bread; Hold, there is the very Remuneration I had of thy Master, thou Half-penny Purse of Wit, thou Pidgeon-egg of Discretion. O, and the Heav'ns were so pleased, that thou wert but my Bastard! What a joyful Father

wouldst thou make? Go too, thou hast it ad dunghil, at the Finger's ends, as they say.

Hol.

Oh, I smell false Latin, dunghil for unguem.

Arm.

Arts-man preambula; we will be singled from the Barbarous. Do you not educate Youth at the Charge-house on the Top of the Mountain.

Hol.

Or Mons on the Hill.

Arm.

At your sweet Pleasure, for the Mountain.

Hol.

I do sans question.

Arm.

Sir, it is the King's most sweet Pleasure and Affection, to congratulate the Princess at her Pavilion, in the posteriors of this Day, which the rude Multitude call the Afternoon.

Hol.

The Posterior of the Day, most generous Sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the Afternoon: The Word is well cull'd, choice, sweet, and apt, I do assure you Sir, I do assure.

Arm.

Sir, the King is a noble Gentleman, and my Familiar, I do assure ye, my very good Friend; for what is inward between us, let it pass—I do beseech thee, remember thy Curtesie—I beseech thee apparel thy Head, and among other importunate and most serious Designs, and of great import indeed too—But let that pass, for I must tell thee it will please his Grace (by the World) sometime to lean upon my poor Shoulder, and with his Royal Finger thus dally with my Excrement, with my Mustachio; but, sweet Heart, let that pass. By the World I recount no Fable; some certain special Honours it pleaseth his Greatness to impart to Armado a Soldier, a Man of Travel, that hath seen the World; but let that pass—the very all of all is: But, sweet Heart, I do implore secretly, that the King would have me present the Princess (sweet Chuck) with some delightful Ostentation, or Show, or Pageant, or Antick, or Fire-work. Now understanding that the Curate and your sweet self are good at such Eruptions, and sudden breaking out of Mirth (as it were) I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your Assistance.

Hol.

Sir, you shall present before her the nine Worthies. Sir, as concerning some Entertainment of Time, some Show in the Posterior of this Day, to be rendred by our Assistants at the King's Command, and this most gallant,

illustrate and learned Gentleman, before the Princess: I say none so fit as to present the nine Worthies.

Nath.

Where will you find Men worthy enough to present them?

Hol.

Josua, your self, this gallant Gentleman Judas Machabeus, this Swain (because of his great Limb or Joint) shall pass Pompey the Great, and the Page Hercules.

Arm.

Pardon Sir, Error: He is not Quantity enough for that Worthy's Thumb; he is not so big as the End of his Club.

Hol.

Shall I have Audience? He shall present Hercules in Minority: His Enter and Exit shall be strangling a Snake; and I will have an Apology for that Purpose.

Moth.

An excellent Device: So if any of the Audience hiss, you may cry; Well done, Hercules, now thou crushest the Snake; that is the way to make an Offence gracious, tho' few have the Grace to do it.

Arm.

For the rest of the Worthies?

Hol.

I will play three my self.

Moth.

Thrice worthy Gentleman.

Arm.

Shall I tell you a thing?

Hol.

We attend.

Arm.

We will have, if this fadge not, an Antique. I beseech you follow.

Hol.

Via good-man Dull, thou hast spoken no Word all this while.

Dull.

Nor understood none neither, Sir.

Hol.

Allons, we will employ thee.

Dull.

I'll make one in a Dance, or so: Or will play on the Taber to the Worthies, and let them dance the Hay.

Hol.

Most Dull, honest Dull, to our Sport away.

Prin.
Sweet Hearts, we shall be rich e'er we depart,
If Fairings come thus plentifully in.

A Lady wall'd about with Diamonds! look you, what I have from the King.

Rosa.
Madam, came nothing else along with that?

Prin.
Nothing but this? yes, as much Love in Rime,
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.

Kath.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy Gallows too.

Rosa.

You'll ne'er be Friends with him, he kill'd your Sister.

Kath.
He made her melancholly, 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 Grandom e'er she dy'd.
And so may you; for a light Heart lives long.

Rosa.

What's your dark Meaning, Mouse, of this light Word?

Kath.
A light Condition, in a Beauty dark.

Rosa.
We need more Light to find your Meaning out.

Kath.
You'll marr the Light by taking it in Snuff:
Therefore I'll darkly end the Argument.

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

Kath.
So do not you, for you are a light Wench.

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

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

Rosa.
Great Reason; for past Care, is still past Cure.

Prin.
Well handled 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 Fairies.
O he hath drawn my Picture in his Letter.

Prin.
Any thing like?

Rosa.
Much in the Letters, nothing in the Praise.

Prin.
Beauteous Ink; a good Gonclusion.

Kath.
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 full of Oes.

Prin.
A Pox of that Jest, and I beshrew all Shrews:
But Katharine, 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 Hypocrisie,
Vildly compil'd, profound Simplicity.

Mar.
This, and these Pearls to me sent Longavile.
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.

Rosa.
They are worse Fools to purchase mocking so.
That same Biron I'll torture e'er 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 Rimes,
And shape his Service all to my Behests,
And make him proud to make me proud with Jests.
So pertaunt like would I o'ersway his State,
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 strange a Note,
As Fool'ry in the Wife, 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 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, Incounters 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 rub'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, 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,
To check their Folly Passions, 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.

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 Sute, 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.

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 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 Attempt will kill the Keeper'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.

Boy.
The Trumpet sounds, be maskt, the Maskers come. Enter the King, Biron, Longavile, Dumain, and Attendants, disguiz'd like Muscovites. Moth with Musick, as for a Masquerade.
Moth.
All hail the richest Beauties on the Earth.

Biron.
Beauties no richer than rich Taffata.

Moth.

A holy Parcel of the fairest Dames 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 Spirit, vouchsafe not to behold.

Biron.
Once to behold, Rogue.
Moth.
Once to behold with your Sun-beamed Eyes—
With your Sun-beamed Eyes—

Biron.
They will not answer to that Epithete;
You were best call it Daughter-beam'd Eyes.

Moth.
They do not mark me, and that brings me out.

Biron.
Is this your Perfectness? Begone, 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.
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 you 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'er-gone,
Are numbred 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, on these thy Stars to shine,
(Those Clouds remov'd) upon our watery Eyne.

Rosa.
O vain Petitioner, beg a greater Matter;
Thou now requests 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.

Rosa.
The Musick plays, vouchsafe some Motion to it:
Our Ears vouchsafe it.

King.
But your Legs shall 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.
Curtsie 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.
Price 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 you that for your fair Lady.

Dum.
Please it you;
As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

Kath.
What, was your Vizard 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 Vizard half.

Kath.
Veal, quoth the Dutch Man; 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 But to your self 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 e'er 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.

Rosa.

Not one Word more my Maids, break off, break off.

Biron.
By Heav'n all dry beaten with pure Scoff.

King.
Farewel, mad Wenches, you have simple Wits. [Exeunt.

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 Vizards 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 straight was mute.

Kath.
Lord Longavile 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.

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.

Kath.
And Longavile 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:
Dismaskt, their damask sweet Comixture shown,
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;
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. Enter the King, Biron, Longavile 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 Pigeon Peas,
And utters it again, when Jove doth please:
He is Wit's Pedlar, and retails his Wares
At Wakes and Wassals, Meetings, Markets, Fairs:
And we that sell by Gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the Grace to grace it with such Show.
This Gallant pins the Wenches on his Sleeve;
Had he been Adam he had tempted Eve.
He can carve too, and lisp: Why this is he,
That kist away his Hand in Courtesie.
This is the Ape of Fortune, Monsieur the nice,
That when he plays at Tables, chides the Dice
In honourable Terms: Nay he can sing
A Mean most meanly, and in ushering
Mend him who can; the Ladies call him sweet;
The Stairs as he treads on them kiss his Feet.
This is the Flower that smiles on every one,
To shew his Teeth as white as Whale his Bone.
And Consciences that will not die in Debt,
Pay him the Duty of Honey-tongu'd 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, Katherine, and Attendants.

Biron.
See where it comes. Behaviour what wert thou,
'Till this mad-man shew'd thee? And what art thou now?

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 Vertue of your Eye must break my Oath.

Prin.
You nick-name Virtue: Vice you should have spoke:
For Virtue's Office never breaks Mens Troth.
Now, by my Maiden Honour, yet as pure
As the unsully'd Lilly, 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 heav'nly 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.

Rosa.
Madam, speak true. It is not so, my Lord:
My Lady (to the manner of the Days)
In Courtesie 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,
With Eyes best seeing, Heaven's fiery Eye,
By Light we lose Light; your Capacity
Is of that Nature, as to your huge Store,
Wise Things seem foolish, and rich Things but poor.

Rosa.
This proves you wise and rich; for in my Eye—

Biron.
I am a Fool, and full of Poverty.

Rosa.
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.

Rosa.
All the Fool mine.

Biron.
I cannot give you less.

Rosa.
Which of the Vizards was it that you wore?

Biron.
Where? When? What Vizard?
Why demand you this?

Rosa.
There, then, that Vizard, that superfluous Case,
That hid the worse, and shew'd the better Face.

King.
We are descried,
They'll mock us now downright.

Dum.
Let us confess, and turn it to a Jest.

Prin.
Amaz'd, my Lord? Why looks your Highness sad?

Rosa.

Help, hold his Brows, he'll swound: Why look you pale?

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 pen'd,
Nor to the Motion of a School-boy's Tongue,
Nor never come in Vizards to my Friend,
Nor woo in time like a blind Harper's Song;
Taffata Phrases, silken Terms precise,
Three-pil'd Hyperboles, 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 exprest
In russet Yeas, and honest kersie Noes:
And to begin, Wench, so God help me Law,
My Love to thee is sound, Sans crack or flaw.

Rosa.
Sans, Sans, I pray you.

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 Lord have mercy on us, and those three,
They are infected, in their Hearts it lyes,
They have the Plague, and caught it of your Eyes:
These Lords are visited, you are not free;
For the Lords Tokens on you both I see.

Prin.
No, they are free that gave these Tokens to us.

Biron.
Our States are forfeit, seek not to undo us.

Rosa.
It is not so; for how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue.

Biron.
Peace, for I will not have to do with you.

Rosa.
Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

Biron.
Speak for your selves, 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 my Honour no.

Prin.
Peace, peace, forbear:
Your Oath once broke, you force not to forswear.

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?

Rosa.
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.

Rosa.
By Heav'n you did, and to confirm it plain,
You gave me this: But take it, Sir, again.

King.
My Faith and this, to th' 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,
Knowing aforehand of our Merriment,
To dash it like a Christmas Comedy.
Some Carry-tale, some Please-man, some slight Zany,
Some Mumble-news, some Trencher-knight, some Dick
That smiles his Cheek in Years, and knows the Trick
To make my Lady laugh, when she's dispos'd,
Told our Intents before; which once disclos'd,
The Ladies did change Favours, and then we
Following the Signs, woo'd but the Sign of she:
Now to our Perjury, to add more Terror,
We are again forsworn in Will and Error.
Much upon this it is. And might not you [To Boyet.
Forestal our Sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my Lady's Foot byth' Square,
And laugh upon the Apple of her Eye,
And stand between her Back, Sir, and the Fire,
Holding a Trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our Page out: Go, you are allow'd,
Die when you will, a Smock shall be your Shrow'd.
You leer upon me, do you? There's an Eye
Wounds like a Leaden Sword.

Boyet.

Full merrily hath this brave Manager, this Career been run.

Biron.
Lo, he is tilting straight. Peace, I have done.

Enter Costard.
Welcome pure Wit, thou part'st 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 vara 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 Sir, I can assure you Sir, we know what we know: I hope 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 mine own part, I am, as they say, but to perfect 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 Pompey the Great: For mine own part, I know not the Degree of the Worthy; but I am to stand for him.

Biron.
Go, bid them prepare.

Cost.
We will turn it finely off, Sir, we will take some Care.

King.
Biron, they will shame us; [Exit.
Let them not approach.

Biron.

We are Shame-proof, my Lord; and 'tis some Policy to have one Show worse than the King 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.
Where Zeal strives to content, and the Content
Dies in the Zeal of that which it presents;
Their 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.

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 Schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical: Too too vain, too too vain: But we will put it, as they say, to Fortuna delaguar. I wish you the Peace of Mind, most Roya Cupplement.

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 Machabeus; and if these four Worthies in their first Shew thrive, these four will change Habits, and present the other five.

Biron.

There are five in the first Shew.

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, and the whole World again
Cannot prick out five such, take each one in's Vein.

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.

Biron.
Well said, old Mocker,
I must needs be Friends with thee.
Cost.
I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd 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.