Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you
rogue!
[Exit Moth.
Ros. What would these strangers? know their
minds, Boyet:

If they do speak our language, 'tis our will
That some plain man recount their purposes:
Know what they would.

Boyet. What would you with the princess?
Biron. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
Ros. What would they, say they?
180
Boyet. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
Ros. Why, that they have; and bid them so

be gone.

Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone.

King. Say to her, we have measured many miles

To tread a measure with her on this grass.

Boyet. They say, that they have measured many a mile

To tread a measure with you on this grass.

Ros. It is not so. Ask them how many inches Is in one mile: if they have measured many, The measure then of one is easily told.

190 Boyet. If to come hither you have measured miles,

And many miles, the princess bids you tell
How many inches doth fill up one mile.
Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary
steps.

Boyet. She hears herself.
Ros.

How many weary steps,

Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile?
Biron. We number nothing that we spend for

you:

King. Why take we hands, then? Ros. Only to part friends: 220 Curtsy, 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, then. King.

I am best pleased with that. [They converse apart. Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. 230

Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.

Biron. Nay then, two treys, and if you grow so nice,

Metheglin, wort, and malmsey: well run, dice!
There's half-a-dozen sweets.
Prin.

Seventh sweet, adieu:
Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.
Biron. One word in secret.
Prin.

Let it not be sweet.

Biron. Thou grievest my gall.

Prin.

Biron.

Gall! bitter.

Therefore meet. [They converse apart.

Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change

Dum.

a word? Mar. Name it.

Our duty is so rich, so infinite,

Mar.

That we may do it still without accompt. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, That we, like savages, may worship it.

200

Fair lady,Say you so? Fair lord,Take that for your fair lady. Dum. Please it you, [They converse apart.

240

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 removed, upon our watery eyne.

Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water.

As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

Kath. What, was your vizard made without

Long. Let's part the word.
Kath.

No, I'll not be your half: Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox. 250 Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!

Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. 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 cry. [They converse apart. 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

260 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.

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.

[Exeunt King, Lords, and Blackamoors. 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 tonight? 270

Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces? This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. Ros. O, they were all in lamentable cases! The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. Prin. Biron 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.

Qualm, perhaps. Go, sickness as thou art! 280 Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.

Kath. Yes, in good faith.
Prin.

But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.
Prin. And quick Biron 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
They will digest this harsh indignity.

Prin. Will they return?

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows, 290 And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:

Therefore change favours; and, when they repair,
Blow like sweet roses in this 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 advised, Let's mock them still, as well known as disguised: Let us complain to them what fools were here, Disguised 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 o'er land. [Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Katharine, and Maria.

Re-enter the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in their proper habits.

King Fair sir, God save you! Where's the princess? 310

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

pease,

321

And utters it again when God doth please:
He is wit's pedler, and retails his wares
At wakes and wassails, 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;
A' can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he
That kiss'd his hand away 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 mean 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 whale's bone;
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.
King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my
heart,

331

Prin. 'Fair' in 'all hail' is foul, as I conceive. King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Prin. Then wish me better; I will give you leave.

King. We came 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, delights in perjured men.

Ros. 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;

For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure As the unsullied lily, I protest,

351

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 heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
King. O, you have lived 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. 361
King. How, madam! Russians!
Prin.
Ay, in truth, my lord;
Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.
Ros. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my
lord:

My lady, to the manner of the days,
In courtesy 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.

370

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 that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.
Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my
eye,-

380

Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty.
Ros. 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!
Ros. All the fool mine?
Biron.
I cannot give you less.
Ros. Which of the vizards was it that you
wore?

Biron. Where? when? what vizard? why demand you this?

Ros. There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case

That hid the worse and show'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. Amazed, my lord? why looks your highness sad?

391

rance;

400

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 penn'd, Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue, Nor never come in vizard to my friend, Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song! Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,

Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical; these summer-flies

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:

410

I do forswear them; and I here protest,
By this white glove,-how white the hand,
God knows!-

Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In russet yeas and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench,—so God help me, la !—
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
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' on those three;
They are infected; in their hearts it lies;
They have the plague, and caught it of your

420

Prin. No, they are free that gave these tokens

Prin. I will: and therefore keep it. Rosaline, What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear

As precious eyesight, 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.

450

You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.

King. My faith and this the 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 dash it like a Christmas comedy: Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight

zany,

460

Biron. Go, bid them prepare.

510

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.

[Exit.

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's and his

company.

King. I say they shall not come.

Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule

you now:

That sport best pleases that doth least know how:

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 vara fine,
For every one pursents 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:

until it doth amount.

490

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.

Enter ARMADO.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.

[Converses apart with the King, and
delivers him a paper.

Prin. Doth this man serve God?
Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making.

Arm. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too too vain, too too vain: but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement ! [Exit.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Maccabæus:

his vein.

Nath. When in the world I lived, I was the world's commander,

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Álisander.

Biron. Pompey the Great,

Cost. Your servant, and Costard. Biron. Take away the conqueror, Alisander.

take away

Cost. [To Sir Nath.] O, sir, you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a closestool, will be given to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander. [Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dashed. He is a marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander,-alas, you see how 'tis,-a little o'erparted. But there are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

590

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter HOLOFERNES, for Judas; and MOTH, for Hercules.

Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,

And now forward; for we have put thee in coun

tenance.

Hol. You have put me out of countenance. Biron. False; we have given thee faces.

Hol. But you have out-faced them all. Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?

630

Dum. For the latter end of his name.
Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him :-
Jud-as, away!

Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.