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 fun-fhine 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.
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy ftars, to fhine
(Thofe clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.
Rof. O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'ft but moon-shine in the water.
King. Then in our measure vouchfafe but one
change;

Thou bid'ft me beg, this begging is not flrange.
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 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.
King. More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Rof. We can afford no more at such a price.
King. Prize yourselves then; what buys your com-
pany?

Rof. Your abfence only.

King. That can never be.

Rof.

3

Rof. Then cannot we be bought; and fo adieu;
Twice to your vifor, and half once to you.

Kong. 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 miftrefs, one fweet word with thee.

Prin. Honey, and milk, and fugar, there is three.
Biron. Nay then, two treys; and if you grow fo
nice,

Methegline, wort, and malmfey;well run, dice:
There's half a dozen fweets.

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:
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 reafon, lady, why you afk.
Cath. O, for your reafon! quickly, Sir; I long.
Long. You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my fpeechlefs vifor half.

Cath. Veal, quoth the Dutch man; is not veal calf?
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;

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.
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, invincible,

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.
But will you hear? the King is my love fworn.
Prin. Ánd quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Cath. And Longaville was for my fervice born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as fure as bark on tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty miftreffes, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here

In their own fhapes; for it can never be,
They will digeft 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 fweet rofes, in this fummer air.

Prin. How, blow? how, blow? fpeak to be understood.

Boyet. Fair ladies, makt, are roses in the bud;
Or angels veil'd in clouds: are roses blown,
Difmafkt, their damafk fweet Commixture fhewn.
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 Shows, and Prologue vilely pen'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.

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
Princefs?

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