Rof. How many weary steps Of many weary miles, you have o'ergone, Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you; That we may do it ftill without accompt. Rof. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. Thou bid'ft me beg, this begging is not flrange. Rof. You took the moon at full, but now fhe's King. Yet ftill fhe is the moon, and I the man. The mufic plays, vouchsafe fome motion to it. Rof. Our ears vouchsafe it. King. But your legs fhould do it. Rof. Since you are ftrangers,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; Curt'fy fweet hearts, and so the measure ends. Rof. Your abfence only. King. That can never be. Rof. 3 Rof. Then cannot we be bought; and fo adieu; Kong. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. King. I am beft pleas'd with That. Biron. White-handed miftrefs, one fweet word with thee. Prin. Honey, and milk, and fugar, there is three. Methegline, wort, and malmfey;well run, dice: Prin. Seventh fweet, adieu; Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. Biron. One word in fecret. Prin. Let it not be fweet. Biron. Thou griev'ft my gall. Prin. Gall? bitter Biron. Therefore meet. Dum. Will you vouchfafe with me to change a word? Mar. Name it. Dum. Fair lady, Mar. Say you fo? fair lord: Dum. Pleafe it you; As much in private; and I'll bid adieu. Cath. What, was your vifor made without a tongue? Cath. Veal, quoth the Dutch man; is not veal calf? 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. Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! Will you give horns, chafte lady? do not fo. Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen: Above the sense of sense, so 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 fcoff.King. Farewel, mad wenches; you have fimple wits. [Exeunt King and Lords. Prin. SCENE TWE VI. WENTY adieus, my frozen Muscovites. Are these the Breed of wits fo wondred at? Boyet. Tapers they are with your fweet breaths puft 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 vizors, fhew their faces? This pert Biron was out of count'nance 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 fword: 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. Go, fickness as thou art! Rof. Well, better wits have worn plain ftatute-caps. In their own fhapes; for it can never be, Boyet. They will, they will, God knows ; Prin. How, blow? how, blow? fpeak to be understood. Boyet. Fair ladies, makt, are roses in the bud; Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand. Prin. Whip to our Tents, as roes run o'er the land. [Exeunt. SCENE Before the Princess's Pavilion. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain in their own habits; Boyet, meeting them. King. FAIR AIR Sir, God fave you! Where's the Boyet. Gone to her Tent. Please it your Majesty, command me any service to her ? [word. King. That the vouchfafe me audience for one Boyet. I will; and fo 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 waffals, 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 sleeve; Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. He can carve too, and lifp: why, this is he, That kift away his hand in courtesy; This is the ape of form, Monfieur the nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms: nay, he can fing A mean most mainly; and, in ufhering, Mend him who can; the ladies call him sweet; The flairs, as he treads on them, kifs his feet. This is the flower, that fmiles on every one, To fhew his teeth, as white as whale his bone.And confciences, that will not die in debt, Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. King. A blifter on his fweet tongue with my heart, That put Armado's Page out of his Part! SCENE |