King.

Fair Princess, welcome to the Court of Navarre.

Prin.

Fair, I give you back again; and welcome I have not yet: the roof of this Court is too high to be yours; and welcome to the wide fields, too base to be mine.

King.
You shall be welcome, Madam, to my Court.

Prin.
I will be welcome then; conduct me thither.

King.
Hear me, dear lady, I have sworn an oath.

Prin.
Our Lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn.

King.
Not for the world, fair Madam, by my will.

Prin.
Why, Will shall break its will, and nothing else.

King.
Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.

Prin.
Were my Lord so, his ignorance were wise,
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
I hear, your Grace hath sworn out house-keeping:
'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my Lord;
Not sin to break it.—
But pardon me, I am too sudden bold:
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my Coming,
And suddenly resolve me in my suit.

King.
Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.

Prin.
You will the sooner, that I were away;
For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay.

Biron.
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

Ros.
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

Biron.
I know, you did.

Ros.
How needless was it then to ask the question?

Biron.
You must not be so quick.

Ros.
'Tis long of you, that spur me with such questions.

Biron.
Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire.

Ros.
Not 'till it leave the rider in the mire.

Biron.
What time o' day?

Ros.
The hour, that fools should ask.

Biron.
Now fair befall your mask!

Ros.
Fair fall the face it covers!

Biron.
And send you many lovers!

Ros.
Amen, so you be none!

Biron.
Nay, then will I be gone.

King.
Madam, your father here doth intimate
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
Being but th' one half of an intire sum,
Disbursed by my father in his wars.
But say, that he, or we, as neither have,
Receiv'd that sum; yet there remains unpaid
A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which,
One part of Aquitain is bound to us,
Although not valu'd to the mony's worth:
If then the King your father will restore
But that one half which is unsatisfy'd,
We will give up our right in Aquitain,
And hold fair friendship with his Majesty:
But that, it seems, he little purposeth,
For here he doth demand to have repaid
An hundred thousand crowns, and not demands,
(a) ^noteOn payment of an hundred thousand crowns,
To have his title live in Aquitain;
Which we much rather had depart withal,

And have the mony by our father lent,
Than Aquitain so gelded as it is.
Dear Princess, were not his requests so far
From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast;
And go well satisfied to France again.

Prin.
You do the King my father too much wrong,
And wrong the reputation of your name,
In so unseeming to confess receipt
Of that, which hath so faithfully been paid.

King.
I do protest, I never heard of it;
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.

Prin.
We arrest your word:
Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For such a sum, from special officers
Of Charles his father.

King.
Satisfie me so.

Boyet.
So please your Grace, the packet is not come,
Where that and other specialties are bound:
To morrow you shall have a sight of them.

King.
It shall suffice me; at which interview,
All liberal reason I will yield unto:
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand,
As honour without breach of honour may
Make tender of, to thy true worthiness.
You may not come, fair Princess, in my gates;
But here, without, you shall be so receiv'd,
As you shall deem your self lodg'd in my heart,
Tho' so deny'd fair harbour in my house:
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewel;
To morrow we shall visit you again.

Prin.
Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace!

King.
Thy own Wish wish I thee, in every place. [Exit.

Biron.
Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.

Ros.
I pray you, do my commendations;
I would be glad to see it.

Biron.
I would, you heard it groan.

Ros.
Is the fool sick?

Biron.
Sick at the heart.

Ros.
Alack, let it blood.

Biron.
Would that do it good?

Ros.
My physick says, ay.

Biron.
Will you prick't with your eye?

Ros.
No, poynt, with my knife.

Biron.
Now God save thy life!

Ros.
And yours from long living!

Biron.
I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Exit.

Dum.
Sir, I pray you a word: what lady is that same?

Boyet.
The heir of Alanson, Rosaline her name.

Dum.
A gallant lady; Monsieur, fare you well. [Exit.

Long.
I beseech you, a word: what is she in white?

Boyet.
A woman sometimes, if you saw her in the light.

Long.
Perchance, light in the light; I desire her name.

Boyet.
She hath but one for herself; to desire That, were a shame.

Long.
Pray you, Sir, whose daughter?

Boyet.
Her mother's, I have heard.

Long.
God's blessing on your beard!

Boyet.
Good Sir, be not offended.
She is an heir of Faulconbridge.

Long.
Nay, my choller is ended:
She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet.
Not unlike, Sir; that may be. [Exit Long.

Biron.
What's her name in the cap?

Boyet.
Catharine, by good hap.

Biron.
Is she wedded, or no?

Boyet.
To her will, Sir, or so.

Biron.
You are welcome, Sir: adieu!

Boyet.
Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you. [Exit Biron.

Mar.
That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord;
Not a word with him but a jest.

Boyet.
And every jest but a word.

Prin.
It was well done of you to take him at his word.

Boyet.
I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board.

Mar.
Two hot sheeps, marry.

Boyet.
And wherefore not ships?
No sheep, (sweet lamb) unless we feed on your lips.

Mar.
You sheep, and I pasture; shall that finish the jest?

Boyet.
So you grant pasture for me.

Mar.
Not so, gentle beast;
My lips are no common, though several they be.

Boyet.
Belonging to whom?

Mar.
To my fortunes and me.

Prin.
Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree.
This civil war of wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd.

Boyet.
If my observation, (which very seldom lies)
By the heart's still rhetorick, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin.
With what?

Boyet.
With that which we lovers intitle affected.

Prin.
Your reason?

Boyet.
Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the Court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
His heart, like an agat with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be:

All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair;
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some Prince to buy;
Who tendring their own worth, from whence they were glasst,
Did point out to buy them, along as you past.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes inchanted with gazes:
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An' you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.

Prin.
Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd—

Boyet.
But to speak that in words, which his eye hath disclos'd;
I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.

Ros.
Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully.

Mar.
He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.

Ros.
Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.

Boyet.
Do you hear, my mad wenches?

Mar.
No.

Boyet.
What then, do you see?

Ros.
Ay, our way to be gone.

Boyet.
You are too hard for me. [Exeunt.

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