Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i'the dark. Kath. So do not you; for you are a light wench. Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light. Kath. You weigh me not?-Oh! that's you care not for me. Ros. Great reason; for, Past care is still past cure.25 Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd. But, Rosaline, you have a favour too. Who sent it? and what is it? Ros. Oh, he hath drawn my picture in his letter! Ros. Much, in the letters; nothing in the praise. Ros. 'Ware pencils! How! let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter. Oh, that your face were not so full of O's! Prin. A pox of that jest! and I beshrow all shrows! But, Katherine, what was sent to you from fair Dumain? Did he not send you twain? Kath. Yes, madam; and moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover, A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville; The letter is too long by half a mile. Prin. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart, The chain were longer, and the letter short? Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. Prin. We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so. Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. That same Berowne I'll torture ere I go. Oh, that I knew he were but in by the week! Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd, As Wit turn'd fool; Folly, in wisdom hatch'd, Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such excess, As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 28 Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; Since all the power thereof it doth apply, To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. Enter BOYET. Boyet? Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. Boyet. Oh, I am stabb'd' with laughter! Where's her Grace? Prin. Thy news, Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare !— Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are Against your peace; Love doth approach disguis'd, Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd. Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. Prin. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they, That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say. Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour; When lo! to interrupt my purpos'd rest, Toward that shade I might behold addrest That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage. I should have fear'd her, had she been a devil. Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us? Like Muscovites, or Russians. As I guess, Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance: Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be task'd; Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear; And change you favours too; so shall your loves Ros. Come on then; wear the favours most in sight. Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? And quite divorce his memory from his part. There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown; come. Enter the King, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in Russian habits, and masked; MOTH, Musicians, and Attendants. Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth! Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames, [The Ladies turn their backs to him. That ever turn'd their-backs-to mortal views! Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! Out Boyet. True; out, indeed. Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold Ber. Once to behold, rogue. Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, -with your sun-beamed eyes Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet; You were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes. Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. If they do speak our language, 'tis our will Boyet. What would you with the Princess? Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Ros. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone. Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. King. Say to her we have measur'd many miles, To tread a measure with her on this grass. Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many a mile, To tread a measure with you on this grass. Ros. It is not so. Ask them, how many inches Is in one mile; if they have measur'd many, The measure then of one is easily told. Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles, And many miles, the Princess bids you tell, How many inches do fill up one mile. Ber. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. Boyet. She hears herself. Ros. How many weary steps, |