That in this spleen ridiculous appears,

To check their folly, paffion's folemn tears.

PRIN. But what, but what, come they to visit us ? BOYET. They do, they do? and are apparell'd thus, Like Mufcovites, or Ruffians, as I guess.

Their purpose is to parley, court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his fev'ral mistress; which they'll know
By favours fev'ral, which they did bestow.

PRIN. And will they fo? the gallants shall be taskt;
For, ladies, we will every one be maskt :
And not a man of them fhall have the grace,
Defpight of fuit, to see a lady's face.
Hold, Rofaline, this favour thou shalt wear,
And then the king will court thee for his dear:
Hold, take you this; my sweet, and give me thine;
So fhall Biron take me for Rofaline.

And change your favours too; fo fhall your loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.

Ros. Come on then, wear the favours most in fight. CATH. But in this changing, what is your intent > PRIN. Th' effect of my intent is to cross theirs ; They do it but in mocking merriment,

And mock for mock is only my intent.

Their feveral councils they unbosom shall
To loves mistook, and fo be mockt withal,
Upon the next occafion that we meet,
With vifages difplay'd to talk and greet.

Ros. But fhall we dance, if they defire us to't?

PRIN. No; to the death, we will not move a foot;

Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace :

But while 'tis fpoke, each turn away her face.

BOYET. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart, And quite divorce his memory from his part.

PRIN. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt,

The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.

There's no fuch sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown;
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own;
So fhall we stay, mocking intended game;
And they, well mockt, depart away with fhame.

[Sound.

BOYET. The trumpet founds; be maskt, the maskers come. [The ladies mask.

SCENE V. Enter the King, Biron, Longueville, Dumain, and attendants, disguis'd like Mufcovites; Moth with mufick, as for a masquerade.

MOTH. "All hail the richest beauties on the earth!" BOYET. Beauties, no richer than rich taffata.

MOTH. "

A holy parcel of the fairest dames,

[The ladies turn their backs to him.

"That ever turn'd their backs to mortal views."

BIRON. Their eyes, villain, their eyes.

MOTH. "That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views. "Out-"

BIRON. True; out, indeed.

MOTH. "Out of your favours, heav'nly spirits, vouchsafe "Not to behold."

66

BIRON. Once to behold, rogue.

66

Мотн. Once to behold with your fun-beamed eyes

With your fun-beamed eyes

BOYET. They will not answer to that epithet;

You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes

MOTH. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. BIRON. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue.

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 ?

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 measur'd many miles,
To tread a measure with her on the grass.

BOYET. They say, that they have measur’d many a mile,
To tread a measure with you on this grass.
Ros. It is not fo. Ask them, how

many

Is in one mile: if they have measur'd many,
The measure then of one is easily told.

inches

BOYET. If to come hither you have measur’d miles, And many miles; the princess bids you tell,

How many inches do 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;

Our duty is fo rich, so infinite,

That we may do it still without accompt.

Vouchsafe to fhew the funshine of your face,

That we (like favages) may worship it.

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

KING. Blessed are clouds, to do as fuch clouds do. Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy ftars, to shine (Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.

Ros. O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter; Thou now request'st but moon-fhine in the water. KING. Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change; Thou bid'st me beg, this begging is not strange.

Ros. Play, mufick then ; nay, you must do it soon. Not yet? no dance-Thus change I like the moon.

KING. Will you not dance? how come you thus eftrang'd. Ros. You took the moon at full, but now fhe's chang'd, KING. Yet ftill fhe is the moon, and I the man. The mufick plays, vouchsafe some motion to it. Ros. Our ears vouchfafe it.

KING. But your legs fhould 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 you hands then?

Ros. Only to part friends;

Curt'fy, fweet hearts, and fo the measure ends.

KING. More measure of this measure; be not nice.

Ros. We can afford no more at fuch a price.

KING. Prize yourselves then; what buys your company?
Ros. Your abfence 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 beft pleas'd with That.

BIRON. White-handed mistress, one fweet word with thee.

PRIN. Honey, and milk, and fugar, there is three.

BIRON. Nay then, two treys; and if you grow so nice, Methegline, wort, and malmsey;

There's half a dozen fweets.

PRIN. Seventh sweet, adieu;

-well run, dice:

Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.

BIRON. One word in fecret.

PRIN. Let it not be sweet.

BIRON. Thou griev'ft my gall.

PRIN. Gall? bitter.

BIRON. Therefore meet.

DUM. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word.

MAR. Name it.

DUM. Fair lady.

MAR. Say you fo? fair lord

Take that for your fair lady.

DUM. Please it you;

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

CATH What, was your visor made without a tongue?

LONG. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.

CATH. O, for your reason! quickly, Sir, I long.
LONG. You have a double tongue within your mask,

And would afford my speechless vizor half.

CATH. Veal, quoth the Dutch man; is not a veal a calf? LONG. A calf, fair lady?

CATH. No, a fair lord calf.

LONG. Let's part the word.

CATH. No, I'll not be your half;

Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.

LONG. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!

Will you give horns, chafte lady? do not fo.

CATH. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

LONG. One word in private with you, ere I die.