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Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile ?

Ber. We number nothing that we spend for you;
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
That we, like savages, may worship it.

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine – Those clouds remov'd-upon our wat’ry eyne.

Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. King. Then, in our measure vouchsafe but one

change. Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. Ros. Play, music, then: nay, you must do it soon.

[Music plays. Not yet;—no dance :—thus change I like the moon. King. Will you not dance? How come you thus

estranged ? Ros. You took the moon at full, but now she's

changed. King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.

Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it.

But your legs should do it. Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by

chance, We'll not be nice. Take hands. We will not dance.

King. Why take we hands then ?

Only to part friends.Court'sey, sweet hearts, and so the measure ends.

King. More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Ros. We can afford no more at such a price.
King. Prize you yourselves; what buys your

Ros. Your absence only.





That can never be.
Ros. Then cannot we be bought. And so adieu ;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you !

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
Ros. In private then.

I am best pleas'd with that.

[They converse apart. Ber. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with

thee. Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.

Ber. Nay, then, two treys—an if you grow so nice-Metheglin, wort, and malmsey ;-well run, dice ! There's half a dozen sweets. Prin.

Seventh sweet, adieu ! Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.

Ber. One word in secret.

Let it not be sweet.
Ber. Thou griev’st my gall.

Gall! bitter. Ber.

Therefore meet.

[They converse apart. Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word ? Mar. Name it. Dum. Fair lady. Mar.

Say you so ? Fair lord. Take that for your fair lady.

As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

[They converse apart. Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue? Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Katħ. Oh, for your reason! quickly, sir; I long;

Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my speechless visor half. Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman.—Is not veal'a

calf? Long. A calf, fair lady? Kath.

No, a fair lord calf. Long. Let's part the word.

Please it you,


No, I'll not be your half. Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox. Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp

mocks! Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. Long. One word in private with you ere I die. Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry.

[They converse apart. Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen

Ås is the razor's edge invisible, Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen;

Above the sense of sense : so sensible Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter

things. Ros. Not one word more, my maids; break off,

break off. Ber. By Heaven, all dry-beaten with

pure scoff! King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.

[Exeunt King, Lords, Moth,

Music, and Attendants. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths

puff’d out. Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross ;

fat, fat. Prin. O poverty in wit, stung by poor flout! Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?

Or ever, but in visors, shew their faces ?
This pert Berowne was out of countenance quite.

Ros. Oh! they were all in lamentable cases.
The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin. Berownie did swear himself out of all suit. Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword. No point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute.

Kath, Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart. And trow you, what he call’d me?


Qualm, perhaps. kath. Yes, in good faith. Prin.

Go, Sickness, as thou art ! Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. But will you hear ? the King is my love sworn.

Prin. And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me.
Kath. 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?

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 understood.

Boyet. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their bud; Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.

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 still, 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 penn'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.

[Exeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and MARIA. Enter the King, Berowne, Longaville, and Dumain,

in their

habits. King. Fair sir, God save you! Whëre is the Prin


Boyet. Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty, Command me any service to her thither?

King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.

[Exit. Ber. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas ; And utters it again when Jove doth please. He is wit's pedler; and retails his wares At wakes and wassels, meetings, markets, fairs; And we that sell by gross, 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. A' can carve too, and lisp. Why, this is he, That kiss'd 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 meanly'; 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 show his teeth as white as whalès 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 ! Enter the Princess, usher'd by Boyet; ROSALINE,

Maria, KATHERINE, und Attendants. Ber. See where it comes !-Behaviour, what wert

thou, Till this man 32 show'd thee? and what art thou now?

King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day! Prin. “Fair'in all hail’ is foul, as I conceive. King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. King. We came to visit you; and purpose now

To lead you to our court. Vouchsafe it then.

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