Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine (Those clouds remov'd), upon our wat❜ry eyne. Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe oné change: Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. Ros. Play, musick, then: nay, you must do it soon. [Musick plays. Not yet;-no dance :-thus change I like the moon. King. Will you not dance? How come you thus estrang'd? Ros. You took the moon at full; but now she's chang'd. King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The musick plays; vouchsafe some motion to it. Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. King. But your legs should do it. Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance, We'll not be nice: take hands;-we will not dance. King. Why take we hands then? Ros. Only to part friends:Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. King. More measure of this measure; be not nice. Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. King. Prize you yourselves; What buys your company ? Ros. Your absence only. King. That can never be. Ros. 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. Ros. In private theu. King. I am best pleas'd with that. [They converse apart. Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. Act V. Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three. Biron. Nay then, two treys (an if you grow so nice), Metheglin, wort, and malmsey ;-Well run, Prin. dice! Seventh sweet, adieu! Since you can cog*, I'll play no more with you. [They converse apart. Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. [They converse apart. Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue? Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Kuth. O, for your reason! quickly, sir; I long., Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my speechless visor half. Kath, Veal, quoth the Dutchman ;—Is not veal a calf? Long. A calf, fair lady? Kath. No, a fair lord calf. No, I'll not be your half: Long. Let's part the word. Kath. Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox. Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. Falsify dice, lye. Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you [They converse apart. 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. Ros. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off. Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits. [Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, musick, and attendants. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out. Ros. 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 visors, show their faces! This pert Birón was out of countenance quite. Ros. O they were all in lamentable cases! The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. Prin. Birón 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 Longaville said, I came o'er his heart; And trow you, what he call'd me? Prin. Kath. Yes, in good faith. Prin. Qualm, perhaps, Go, sickness as thou art! * A quibble on the French adverb of negation, Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps*. But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. Prin. And quick Birón hath plighted faith to me. Kath. And Longaville 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, Boyet. They will, they will, God knows; And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows: Therefore, change favourst; and when they repair, Blow like sweet roses in the summer air. Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be understood. Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud: Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture 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 vilely penn'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 over land. [Exeunt Princers, Ros. Kath. and Maria, Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their proper habits. King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is the prin cess? Better wits may be found among citizens. Features, countenances. Uncouth. Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty, Command me any service to her thither? King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. [Exit. Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit's pedler; and retails his wares At wakes, and wassels*, 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 kiss'd away his hand in courtesy ; This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, That when he plays at tables, chides the dice, In honourable terms! nay, he can sing A meant 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 show his teeth as white as whales bonet: And consciences, that will not die in debt, Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. King. A blister on his sweet tougue, with my heart, That put Armado's page out of his part! Enter the Princess, usher'd by Boyet; Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, and attendants. Biron. See where it comes!-Behaviour, what wert thou, Till this man show'd thee? and what art thou now? * Rustic merry-meetings. + The tenor in musick. The tooth of the horse-whale. |