They do it but in mocking merriment;
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook; and so be mock'd withal,
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display'd, to talk, and greet.

Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire 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 spoke, 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 such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown; To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own: So shall we stay, mocking intended game; And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. [Trumpets sound within. Boyet. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the maskers [The ladies mask.

come.

Enter the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in Russian habits, and mask'd; MOTH, Musicians, and Attendants.

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

Boyet. True; out, indeed.

Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold

Biron. Once to behold, rogue.

Moth. Once to behold with your sun-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 this 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 so: ask them, how many inches

Is in one mile if they have measur'd many,`

The measure then of one is easily told.

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 so rich, so infinite,

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

That we, like savages, may worship it.

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 one change:

Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. Ros. Play, music, then: nay, you must do it soon. [Music 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 music 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 then.

King. I am best pleas'd with that.

[They converse apart.

Biron. White-handed-mistress, one sweet word with

thee.

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, 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 griev'st my gall.

Prin. Gall! bitter.

Biron. Therefore meet.

[They converse apart.

Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?

Mar. Name it.

Dum. Fair lady,

Mar. Say you so? Fair lord,

VOL. X.

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.
Kath. 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.

Long. Let's part the word.

Kath. 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.

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, 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!