Boyet.
Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits.
Consider whom the King your father sends;
To whom he sends, and what's his embassy.
Your self, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the sole inheritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitain, a dowry for a Queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When she did starve the general world beside,
And prodigally gave them all to you.

Prin.
Good lord Boyet, my beauty though but mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues.
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than you much willing to be counted wise,
In spending thus your wit in praise of mine.
But now to task the tasker; good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
'Till painful study shall out-wear three years,

No woman may approach his silent court;
Therefore to us seems it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
Bold of your worthiness, we single you
As our best moving fair sollicitor.
Tell him the daughter of the King of France,
On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
Importunes personal conference with his Grace.
Haste, signifie so much, while we attend,
Like humble-visag'd sutors, his high will.

Boyet.
Proud of imployment, willingly I go. [Exit.

Prin.
All pride is willing pride, and yours is so;
Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous Duke?

Lord.
Longaville is one.

Prin.
Know you the man?

Mar.
I knew him, madam, at a marriage feast,
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Faulconbridge solemnized.
In Normandy saw I this Longaville,
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd;
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms,
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
(If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,)
Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
It should spare none that come within his power.

Prin.
Some merry-mocking lord belike, is't so?

Mar.
They say so most, that most his humours know.

Prin.
Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow.
Who are the rest?

Cath.
The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd youth,
Of all that virtue love, for virtue lov'd.
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill;
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
And shape to win grace, tho' he had no wit.
I saw him at the Duke Alanzon's once,
And much too little of that good I saw,
Is my report to his great worthiness.

Rosa.
Another of these students at that time
Was there with him, as I have heard a truth;
Biron they call him: but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch,
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished;
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

Prin.
God bless my ladies, are they all in love,
That every one her own hath garnished
With such bedecking ornaments of praise?

Mar.
Here comes Boyet. Enter Boyet.

Prin.
Now, what admittance, Lord?

Boyet.
Navarre had notice of your fair approach;
And he and his competitors in oath
Were all addrest to meet you, gentle lady,
Before I came: marry, thus much I've learnt,
He rather means to lodge you in the field,

Like one that comes here to besiege his court,
Than seek a dispensation for his oath,
To let you enter his unpeopled house.
Here comes Navarre. SCENE II. Enter the King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and Attendants.

King.

Fair Princeess, 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;
And 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 a day?

Rosa.
The hour that fools should ask.

Biron.
Now fair befall your mask.

Rosa.
Fair fall the face it covers.

Biron.
And send you many lovers.

Rosa.
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 money'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 ^{a note}demands
One 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 ^{b note}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 comfort your Grace.

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

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

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

Biron.
I would you heard it groan.* ^note











[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?* ^note

Boyet.
She is an heir of Faulconbridge.* ^note

Long.
She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet.
Not unlike Sir, that may be.* ^note
























[Exit Long.

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

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

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

Rosa.
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?

Rosa.
Ay, our way to be gone.

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

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