King.
We come 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 swoon: why look you pale?

Sea-sick I think, coming from Muscovy.

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 vizard to my friend,
  Nor woo in rhime 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 lord's 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 mine 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 dish 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 by th' ^{g note}squier,
  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 shrowd.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye
Wounds like a leaden sword.

Boyet.
Full merrily
Brave manager, hath this career been run.

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

Enter Costard.
Welcome pure wit, thou partest 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 very fine;
For every one presents 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 my 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 Pompion 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; 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 contents
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.

Previous section

Next section