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 reft will ne'er come in, if he he out.

There's no fuch sport, as fport by sport o'erthrown :
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own :
So fhall we stay, mocking intended game;

And they, well mock'd, depart away with fhame. [Sound. Boyet. The trumpet founds: be mask'd, the maskers [The ladies mafk.

come.

Enter the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, and
Attendants, difguised like Muscovites; MOTH with
Mufic, as for a Masquerade.

Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!
Boyet. Beauties, no richer than rich taffata.

Moth. A boly 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, heavenly fpirits, vouchsafe Not to behold

Biron. Once to behold, rogue.

Moth. Once to behold with your fun-beamed eyes-e With your fun-beamed eyes

Bojet. They will not anfwer to that epithet :

You were beft 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.
Rof. What would thefe ftrangers? know their minds,
Boyet.

If they do fpeak our language, 'tis our will
That fome plain man recount their purposes;
Know, what they would.

Boyet. What would you with the princess?
Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle vifitation.
Rof. What would they, fay they?

Boyet Nothing, but peace and gentle vifitation.

Rof. Why, that they have; and bid them fo be gone. Boyet. She fays, 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 fay, that they have meafur'd many a mile, To tread a measure with you on this grass.

Rof. It is not fo: Afk 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 meafur'd miles, And many miles; the princefs bids you tell,

How many inches do fill up one mile.

Biron. Tell her, we meafure them by weary steps.
Boyet. She hears herself.

Rof. 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, fo infinite,

That we may do it ftill without accompt.
Vouchfafe to fhew the funfhine of your face,
That we, like favages, may worship it.

Rof. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
King. Bleffed are clouds, to do as fuch clouds do!
Vouchfafe, bright moon, and these thy ftars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.[9]

Rof. O vain petitioner; beg a greater matter; Thou now requeft'ft but moon-fhine in the water. King. Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change: Thou bidd'ft me beg; this begging is not strange. Rof. Play, mufic, then: nay, you must do it foon. Not yet;-no dance: thus change I like the moon. King. Will you not dance? How come you thus eftrang'd?

Rof. You took the moon at full; but now fhe's chang❜d. King. Yet ftill fhe is the moon, and I the man. The mufic plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.

Rof. Our ears vouchfafe it.

King. But your legs should do it.

Rof. 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?

Rof. Only to part friends :

Court'fy, fweet hearts; and fo the measure ends.

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

[9] When queen Elizabeth asked an ambassador how he liked her ladies, "It is hard (faid he) to judge of Rtars in the presence of the fun." JOHNS

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

King. Prize yourselves then; what buys your company? Rof. Your abfence only.

King. That can never be.

Rof. Then cannot we be bought: And fo, adieu;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you!

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
Rof. In private then.

King. I am beft 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 (an if you grow fo nice), Metheglin, wort, and malmfey ;-Well done, dice! There's half a dozen fweets.

Prin. Seventh fweet, adieu !

Since you can cog,[1] I'll play no more with you.
Biron. One word in fecret.

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 fo? Fair lord :

Take that for your fair lady.

Dum. Pleafe it you,

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

Cath. What, was your vifor made without a tongue! Long. I know the reason, lady, why you afk.

Cath. O, for your reafon ! quickly, fir; I long. Long. You have a double tongue within your mafk,

And would afford my speechlefs vifor half.

Cath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman

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 :

Is not veal a calf ?

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

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

[1] To 'cog fignifies to falsify the dice,' and to falfify a narrative, or to Lic. JOHNS.

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.
Cath. Bleat foftly then, the butcher hears you cry.
Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor's edge invifible,

Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen :

Above the fenfe of fenfe; fo fenfible

Seemeth their conference: their conceits have wings, Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, fwifter things. Rof. 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 MuscovitesAre these the breed of wits fo wondred at?

Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.

Rof. Well-liking wits they have; grofs, grofs; fat, fat.
Prin. O poverty in wit,-kingly-poor flout!

Will they not, think you, hang themfelves to-night?
Or ever, but in vifors, fhew their faces ?

This pert Biron was out of countenance quite.
Rof. O they were all in lamentable cafes!
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Prin. Biron did fwear himself out of all fuit.
Mar, Dumain was at my fervice, and his sword :
No, point, quoth I; my fervant ftraight was mute.
Cath. Lord Longaville faid, 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 !

Rof. Well, better wits have worn plain ftatute-caps.[2]

But will you hear? the king is my love fworn.

Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Cath. And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as fure as bark on tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:

[2] This line is not univerfally understood, because every reader does not know that a ftatute-cap is part of the academical habit. Lady Rofaline declares that her expectation was difappointed by thefe courtly ftudents, and that better wits might be found in the common places of education. JÓHN.

Immediately they will again be here

In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digeft this harfh 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 fweet rofes, in this fummer 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 shewn, Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do,
If they return in their own fhapes to woo?

Rof. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them ftill, as well known, as difguis'd :
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Difguis'd like Mufcovites, in fhapeless gear;
And, wonder what they were; and to what end
Their fhallow fhows, and prologue vilely penn'd,
And their rough carriage fo ridiculous,
Should be prefented 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 Ladies.

Enter the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in their own habits.

King. Fair fir, God fave you! Where's the princess? Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty Command me any fervice to her?

King. That the vouchsafe me audience for one word. Boyet. I will; and fo will fhe, I know, my lord. [Ex. 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 waffels, meetings, markets, fairs: And we that fell by grofs, the Lord doth know, Have not the grace to grace it with fuch fhow. This gallant pins the wenches on his fleeve ; Had he been Adam he had tempted Eve. He can carve too, and lifp: Why, this is he, That kifs'd away his hand in courtesy; This is the ape of form, monfieur the nice,