Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Ros. How needlefs was it then to ask the question? Ros. 'Tis long of you that fpur me with fuch questions. BIRON. What time o'day? Ros. The hour, that fools fhould ask. KING. Madam, your father here doth intimate But fay, that he, or we, as neither have, Although not valu'd to the mony's worth: СА Which we much rather had depart withal, Dear princess, were not his requests fo far From reafon's yielding, your fair self should make PRIN. You do the king my father too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name, In fo unfeeming to confefs receipt Of that, which hath fo faithfully been paid. PRIN. We arrest your word: Of Charles his father. KING. Satisfy me fo. BOYET. So please your Grace, the packet is not come, Where that and other fpecialties are bound : To-morrow you fhall have a fight of them. KING. It fhall fuffice me; at which interview, All liberal reason I will yield unto; Mean time, receive fuch welcome at my hand, Your own good thoughts excufe me, and farewel; To-morrow we shall vifit you again. PRIN. Sweet health and fair defires confort your Grace! KING. Your own with wish I thee, in every place. [Exit. BIRON. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. I would be glad to see it. BIRON. I would, you heard it groan. Ros. Is the fool fick ? BIRON. Sick at the heart. Ros. Alack, let it blood. BIRON. Would that do it good? BIRON. Will you prick't with your eye? Ros Non, poynt," with my knife. BIRON. NOW God fave thy life! Ros. And yours from long living! BIRON. I can't stay thanksgiving. [Exit. DUM. Sir, I pray you a word: what lady is that fame ? LONG. Perchance, light in the light; I defire her name. BOYET. She hath but one for herfelf; to defire that were a fhame. LONG. Pray you, fir, whofe daughter? LONG. God's bleffing on your beard! BOYET. To her will, fir, or fo. BIRON. You are welcome, fir; adieu! BOYET. Farewel to me, fir, and welcome to you. [Exit. Biron MAR. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord.; Not a word with him but a jeft. BOYET. And every jeft a word. PRIN. It was well done of you to take him at his word. BOYET. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board. MAR. Two hot sheeps, marry. BOYET. And wherefore not fhips? No sheep, fweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. MAR. You fheep, and I pasture; fhall that finifh the jeft? BOYET. So you grant pafture for me, MAR. Not fo, gentle beast; My lips are no common, though feveral they be. BOYET. Belonging to whom? MAR. To my fortune and me. PRIN. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree. The civil war of wits were much better us'd On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd. BOYET. If my observation, which very seldom lies, By the heart's ftill retorick, difclofed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected, PRIN. With what? BOYET. With that which we lovers entitle affected. PRIN. Your reason ? BOYET. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough defire: His heart, like an agat with your print impreffed, Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed: His tongue, all impatient to speak and not fee, Did ftumble with hafte in his eye-fight to be: All fenfes to that sense did make their rapair, To feel only looking on faireft of fair; Methought all his fenfes were lock'd in his eye, As jewels in chrystal for fome prince to buy ; Who tendring their own worth from whence they were glasst, An' you give him for my fake but one loving kiss. BOYET. But to speak that in words, which his eye hath difclos'd; I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully. MAR. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him. Ros. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim. BOYET. Do you hear, my mad wenches? MAR. NO. BOYET. What then, do you fee? BOYET. You are too hard for me. [Exeunt. |