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Prin. Qualm, perhaps.
Cath. Yes, in good faith.
Prin. Go, sickness as thou art !

Rof. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.
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 sure as bark on tree.

Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
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 un-

Boyet. Fair ladies, malkt, are roses in the bud;
Or angels veil'd in clouds : are roses blown,
Dismaskt, their damask sweet Commixture shewn.

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

Ros. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis’d,
Let's mock them ftill, 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 pen'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 o'er the land.


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Before the Princess's Pavilion. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain in

their own habits; Boyet, meeting them. . AIR Sir, God save you! Where's the

Princess ? Boyet. Gone to her Tent. Please it your Majesty, command me any service to her?

word. King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one Boyet. I will; and so 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 such show. This Gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. He can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he, That kist away his hand in courtesy ; This is the ape of form, Monsieur the nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms : nay, he can sing A mean most mainly; and, in ushering, Mend him who can; the ladies call him sweet; The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet. This is the flower, that smiles on every one, To shew his teeth, as white as whale his bone. And consciences, that will not die in debt, Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.

King. A blister on his sweet tongue with my heart, That put Armado's Page out of his Part !


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Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Catharine, Boyet,

and Attendants. Biron. EE, where it comes ; behaviour, what

wert thou, 'Till this man shew'd thee? and what art thou now? King. All hail, sweet Madam, and fair time of

day! Prin. Fair in all hail is soul, as I conceive. King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. King. We come 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


Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men. King. Rebuke me not for That, which you pro

voke; 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 unfully'd lilly, I proteft,
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 heav'nly oaths, vow'd with integrity.

lehaviour, what wert thou, 'Till this man shewed thee? and what art thou now?] These are tivo wonderfully fine Lines, intimating that what Courts call Manners, and value themselves so much upon Teaching, as a Thing no where elle to be learnt, is a modest silent Accomplishment under the Di. re&ion of Nature and Common Sense, which does its Office in promoting social Life without being taken Norice of. But that when it degenerates into Shew and Parade it becomes an unmaniy contempcible Quality:

King. O, you have liv'd in defolation 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? Ruffians?

Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ;
Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.
Rof. Madam, fpeak true. It is not so,


lord : My lady (to the manner of the days) In courtesy gives undeserving praise. We four, indeed, confronted were with four In Ruffian habit : here they staid 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 greer
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By lighi we lose light; your capacity
Is of that nature, as to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Rof. This proves you wise and rich; for in my

Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty.

Rof. 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.
Rof. All the fool inine?
Biron. I cannot give you less.
Rof. Which of the visors was it, that you

wore? Biryn. Where? when? what visor? why demand

you this?

Rof. There, then, that visor, that superfluous Case, That hid the worse, and shew'd the better face. King. We are descried; they'll mock us now downright.



Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jeft.
Prin. Amaz’d, my lord? why looks your Highness

Rof. 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 Per


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 with thee never more to dance,

Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O! never will I trust to speeches pend,

Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue;
Nor never come in visor to my friend,

Nor woo in rhime, like a blind harper's song.
Taffata-phrases, filken 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,

By this white glove, (how white the hand, God

Henceforth my wooing mind shall be exprest

In russet yeas, and honest kersy noes:
And to begin, wench (so God help me, law!)
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

Rof. Sans, fans, I pray you.

Biron. Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage : bear with me, I am sick.
I'll leave it by degrees : fost, let us see;
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;

They are infected. in their hearts it lies;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
Theic lords are vilited, you are not free;


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