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? yes, as much love in rhyme,
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.

Ros.
That was the way to make his God-head wax,
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

Cath.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

Ros.
You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd your sister.

Cath.
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?

Cath.
A light condition, in a beauty dark.

Ros.
We need more light to find your meaning out.

Cath.
You'll marr the light, by taking it in snuff:
Therefore I'll darkly end the argument.

Ros.
Look, what you do; and do it still i'th' dark.

Cath.
So do not you, for you are a light wench.

Ros.
Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.

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

Ros.
Great reason; for (a) ^note past Cure is still past Care.

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.
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 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.

Cath.
Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

Ros.
Ware pencils. How? let me not die your debter,
My red dominical, my golden letter.
O, that your face were not so full of Oes!

Cath.
Pox of that jest, and I beshrew all shrews:

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

Cath.
Madam, this glove.

Prin.
Did he not send you twain?

Cath.
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 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 for't.

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 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 rhimes,
And shape his service all to my behests,
And make him proud to make me proud with jests:
^{4 note}

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.

Ros.
The blood of youth burns not in such excess,
As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

Mar.
Folly in fools bears not so strong a note,
As fool'ry in the wise, when wit doth dote:
Since all the power thereof it doth apply,
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

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