Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire that,

were a shame.

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?

Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard.

Long. God's blessing on your beard!
Boyet. Good sir, be not offended:

She is an heir of Faulconbridge.

Long. Nay, my choler is ended.

She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet. Not unlike, sir; that may be. [Exit LONG. Ber. What's her name, in the cap?

Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap.

Ber. Is she wedded, or no?

Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.

Ber. You are welcome, sir; adieu!

Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.

[Exit BEROWNE.-Ladies unmask.

Mar. That last is Berowne, the merry mad-cap lord; Not a word with him but a jest.

Boyet.
And every jest but 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 ships?

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You sheep, and I pasture! Shall that finish

the jest?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me?

Mar.

[Offering to kiss her.

Not so, gentle beast;

To my fortunes and me.

My lips are no common, for several they be.

Boyet. Belonging to whom?

Mar.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,

agree:

The civil war of wits were much better used

On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused. Boyet. If my observation-which very seldom lies

By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed 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 desire;
His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed;
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair.

Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from whence they
were glass'd,

Did prompt you to buy them, along as you pass'd.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes;
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin. Come, to our pavilion; Boyet is dispos'd.
Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye
hath disclos'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.

Boyet.

No.

What then, do you see?

You are too hard for me.

[Exeunt.

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Another part of the same.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

Armado.

ARBLE, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

Moth. Concolinel..

[Singing.

Arm. Sweet air!-Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How meanest thou? brawling in French?

Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; sigh a note, and sing a note; sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love; sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouselike o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches-that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of note,-do you note me? 6-that most are affected to these.

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience? Moth. By my penny of observation.

Arm. But Oh!-but Oh!

Moth. The hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm. Callest thou my love hobby-horse?

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt,

and your love perhaps a hackney. But have you for

got your love?

Arm. Almost I had.

Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, master. All those three I will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant. By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A messenger well sympathised; a horse to be embassador for an ass!

Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

Moth. Marry, sir! you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited. But I go. Arm. The way is but short; away.

Moth. As swift as lead, sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?

Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

Moth. Minimè, honest master; or rather, master, no. Arm. I say, lead is slow.

Moth.

You are too swift, sir, to say so.

Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?

Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he.

I shoot thee at the swain.

Moth.

Thump then, and I flee!

[Exit.

Arm. A most acute juvenal! voluble and free of

grace!

By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face:
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd.'

Re-enter MOTH and COSTARD.

Moth. A wonder, master! here's a Costard broken in a shin.

Arm. Some enigma, some riddle;-come, thy l'envoy ;-begin.

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy: no salve in them all, sir. Oh, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain !

Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling. Oh, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy, and the word, l'envoy, for a salve?

Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve?

Arm. No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain

Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it:

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three.

There's the moral. Now the l'envoy.

Moth. I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again. Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three:

Moth. Until the goose came out of door,
Staying the odds by adding four.

Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three: Arm. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four.

Moth. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose. Would you desire more?