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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 watery eyne,

Ros. O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter; Thou now request'st but moon-shine in the water.

King. Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change; Thou bidst me beg, this begging is not strange.

Ros. Play, musick 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 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 you hands then?

Ros. Only to part friends ;
Curt'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 yourselves then; 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 deay to dance, let's hold more chat.
Ros. In private then.
King. I am best pleas'd with That.
Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.
Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar, there is three.


Biron. Nay then, two treys; and if you grow so nice, Methegline, 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 secret.
PRIN, Let it not be sweet.
Biron. Thou griev'st 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 so ? 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 mark,
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, chaste lady? do not so.

Cath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
LONG, One word in private with you, ere I die.

CATH, Bleat foftly then, the butcher hears you 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, fo fenfible
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. Farewel, mad wenches; you have fimple wits.

[Exeunt king and lords.

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Are these the breed of wits so wondred at?

Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puft 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 vizors,

shew their faces ? This pert Biron was out of count'nance 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 1; my servant ftrait was mute.

Cath, Lord Longuevilie said, I came o'er his heart;
And, trow you, what he call'd me?

Prin. Qualm, perhaps.
CATH. Yes, in good faith.
PRIN. Go, fickness as thou art !

Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.
But will you bear? the king is my love sworn.

Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me,
CATH. And Longueville 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; 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, maskt, are roses in their bud :
Dismaskt, their damask sweet commixture shewn,
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 ftill, 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 o'er the land.

[Exeunt. SCENE VII. Before the Princess's pavilion. Enter the King, Biron, Longueville, and Dumain, in their

own habits; Boyet meeting them., KING. Fair sir, God save you! Where's the princess ?

BOYET. Gone to her tent.
Please it your majesty, command me any service to her?

KING. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
Boyet. I will; and so will fhe, I know, my lord. (Exit.

Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas ;
And utters it again, when Jove doth please :
He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares
At wakes and wassels, meetings, markets, fairs :
And we that fell by grofs, 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 kist 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 mean most mainly; 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 Thew his teeth, as white as whale his 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,
That put Armado's page out of his part.
Scene VIII. Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria,

Catharine, Boyet, and attendants,
BIRON. See, where it comes; behaviour, what wert thou,
Till this man shew'd thee? and what art thou now?

King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!

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