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, mask'd, are roses in their bud:

Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, 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 I'll be advis'd, Let's mock them still, 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 over land.* [Exeunt PRINCESS, Ros., KATH., and MARIA.

And utters it again when God|| doth please:
He is wit's pedler; and retails his wares
At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs;
And we that sell by gross, 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 (4) too, and lisp: Why, this is he,
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy ;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice

Enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, and Attendants. BIRON. See where it comes!-Behaviour, what wert thou,

Till this man show'd thee? and what art thou now?

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

PRIN. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. KING. Construe my speeches better, if you may. PRIN. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. KING. We came to visit you; and purpose now To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then. PRIN. This field shall hold me; and so hold your vow:

Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur’d men.

KING. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ;

The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
PRIN. You nick-name virtue: vice you should
have spoke ;

For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unsullied lily, I protest,

A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your
house's guest:
So much I hate a breaking-cause to be
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
KING. O, you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.

PRIN. Not so, my lord, it is not so, I swear;
We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game;
A mess of Russians left us but of late.
KING. How, madam? Russians?
PRIN.

Ay, in truth, my lord; Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. Ros. Madam, speak true:-It is not so, my lord;

My lady (to the manner of the days),

In courtesy, gives undeserving praise.

We four, indeed, confronted were with four

In Russian habit; here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
BIRON. This jest is dry to me.
Fair gentle-

sweet, Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet

With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light: Your capacity
Is of that nature, that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my
eye,-

BIRON. I am a fool, and full of poverty.
Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
BIRON. O, I am yours, and all that I possess.
Ros. All the fool mine?
BIRON.
I cannot give you less.
Ros. Which of the visors was it that you wore?
BIRON. Where? when? what visor? why de-
mand you this?

Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous case,

That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. KING. We are descried: they'll mock us now downright.

DUM. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. PRIN. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your highness sad?

Ros. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why
look you pale?—

Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
BIRON. Thus pour the stars down plagues for

perjury.

Can any face of brass hold longer out?— Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me;

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance; Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; And I will wish thee never more to dance Nor never more in Russian habit wait. O! never will I trust to speeches penn'd,

Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue; Nor never come in visor to my friend;

Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song: Taffata phrases, silken terms precise,

Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation,* Figures pedantical; these summer-flies

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation: I do forswear them: and I here protest,

(*) Old copies, affection.

a Fair gentle-sweet,-] Fair was supplied by the second folio, 1632. Mr. Malone reads " My."

b You force not to forswear.] To force not is to care not. Mr.

You gave me this; but take it, sir, again.

KING. My faith, and this, the princess I did give; I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

PRIN. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear :What; will you have me, or your pearl again?

BIRON. Neither of either; I remit both twain. I see the trick on 't:-Here was a consent, (Knowing aforehand of our merriment,) To dash it like a Christmas comedy:

Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight

To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd,—
Told our intents before: which once disclos'd,
The ladies did change favours; and then we,
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
Now to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn: in will, and error.
Much upon this it is: *-And might not you,
[To BOYET.
Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our page out: Go, you are allow'd ;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden sword.

(*) Old copies, 'tis.

a That smiles his cheek in years;] One that by incessant grinning wears his face into wrinkles. Thus, in the "Merchant of Venice," Act I. Sc. 1,

"With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come."

b By the squire,-] From the French esquiere, a square, or rule. e Go, you are allow'd;] That is, you are hired, licensed as a fool or jester, "There is no slander in an allow'd fool." Twelfth Night, Act I. Sc. 5.

d Hath this brave manage,-] The quarto has nuage, and the folio, 1623, manager.

e Pompey the great;] Some surprise has been expressed at Costard's first pronouncing the name Pompion, and then giving it, immediately after, correctly; but his former speeches show either

You cannot beg us, (6) sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we know;

I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,-
BIRON.
Is not nine.
COST. Under correction, sir, we know where-
until it doth amount.

BIRON. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

COST. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir.

BIRON. How much is it?

COST. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for mine own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man, in one poor man; Pompion the great, sir.

BIRON. Art thou one of the Worthies?

COST. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompey the great; for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am to stand for him.

BIRON. Go, bid them prepare.

take some care.

COST. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will [Exit COSTARD. KING. Biron, they will shame us, let them not approach.

BIRON. We are shame-proof, my lord: and 't is

some policy

To have one show worse than the king's and his

company.

KING. I say, they shall not come.

PRIN. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule

you now:

That sport best pleases that doth least know how : Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Dies in the zeal of that which it presents,

Their form confounded makes most form in mirth; When great things labouring perish in their birth. BIRON. A right description of our sport, my

lord.

Enter ARMADO.

ARM. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [ARMADO converses with the KING, and delivers him a paper.

PRIN. Doth this man serve God?
BIRON. Why ask you?

PRIN. He speaks not like a man of God's making.

ARM. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch: for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceedingly fantastical; too-too vain; too-too vain: But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra.* I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement ! [Exit ARMADO.

KING. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabæus.

And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive,

These four will change habits, and present the other five.

BIRON. There is five in the first show. KING. You are deceiv'd, 't is not so. BIRON. The pedant, the braggart, the hedgepriest, the fool, and the boy : Abate throw at novum; and the whole world again

Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his vein.

KING. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

[Seats brought for the KING, PRINCESS, &c.

COST. It is great, sir ;-Pompey surnam❜d the great;

That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat :

And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance;

And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.

If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I had done.

PRIN. Great thanks, great Pompey. COST. 'Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect: I made a little fault in great. BIRON. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.

Enter NATHANIEL, armed, for Alexander.

NATH. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander ;

By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might:

My 'scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander. BOYET. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.

BIRON. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender-smelling knight.

PRIN. The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good Alexander.

NATH. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander.

BOYET. Most true, 't is right; you were so,
Alisander.
BIRON. Pompey the great,-

COST.
Your servant, and Costard.
BIRON. Take away the conqueror, take away
Alisander.

COST. O, sir [to NATH.], you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-ax sitting on a close stool, will be given to A-jax: he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard* to speak! run away for shame, Alisander. [NATH. retires.] There, an 't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, in sooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander, alas, you see how 't is; a little o'erparted:-But there are Worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other

sort.

PRIN. Stand aside, good Pompey.

(*) First folio, afraid. "Abate a throw," &c.

b You lie,-] We must suppose that, on his entrance, Costard prostrates himself before the court; hence Boyet's joke.

HOL. You have put me out of countenance.
BIRON. False: we have given thee faces.
HOL. But you have out-fac'd them all.

BIRON. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. BOYET. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?

DUM. For the latter end of his name.

BIRON. For the ass to the Jude; give it him: -Jud-as,(8) away!

HOL. This is not generous; not gentle; not humble.

abone face on a flask.] Query, Boni-face, or Bon-face? b When he breathed, he was a inan-] These words a.c from

ARM. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. LONG. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.

DUм. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

ARM. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breathed, he was a man'—But I will forward with my device: Sweet royalty [to the PRINCESS], bestow on me the sense of hearing.

[BIRON whispers COSTARD. PRIN. Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.

ARM. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.
BOYET. Loves her by the foot.
DUм. He may not by the yard.

ARM. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,— COST. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way.