strangling a snake; and I will have an apology | But, Rosaline, you have a favour too :
for that purpose.
Who sent it? and what is it?
Ros.

Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the audience hiss, you may cry Well done, Hercules! now thou crushest the snake!' that is the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it.

Arm. For the rest of the Worthies?
Hol. I will play three myself.
Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman!
Arm. Shall I tell you a thing?

Hol. We attend.

150

Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antick. I beseech you, follow.

Hol. Via, goodman Dull! thou hast spoken

no word all this while.

Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir.
Hol. Allons! we will employ thee.

Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I
will play

160

30

I would you knew:
An if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne :
The numbers true ; and, were the numbering too,
I were the fairest goddess on the ground:
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
O! he hath drawn my picture in his letter.
Prin. Any thing like?

Ros. Much in the letters, nothing in the praise.
Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion. 41
Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

Ros. 'Ware pencils, ho! let me not die your
debtor,

My red dominical, my golden letter:

O that your face were not so full of O's.
Prin. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all
shrows!

On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair dance the hay.

Hol. Most dull, honest Dull. To our sport, away!

SCENE II.-The Same. Before the

PRINCESS'S Pavilion.

Exeunt.

Enter the PRINCESS, KATHARINE, ROSALINE,

and MARIA.

Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,

If fairings come thus plentifully in :

A lady wall'd about with diamonds!
Look you what I have from the loving king.
Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that?
Prin. Nothing but this! yes; as much love
in rime

As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all,
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.
Ros. That was the way to make his godhead

wax;

10

For he hath been five thousand years a boy.
Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.
Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him: a' kill'd
your sister.

Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy;
And so she died: had she been light, like you,
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,
She might ha' been a grandam ere she died;
And so may you, for a light heart lives long.
Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of
this light word?

Dumaine?

Kath. Madam, this glove.

60

That same Berowne I'll torture ere I go.
O! that I knew he were but in by the week.
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rimes,
And shape his service wholly to my hests,
And make him proud to make me proud that jests!
So perttaunt-like would I o'ersway his state
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.

Prin. None are so surely caught, when they
are catch'd,

As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd, 0
Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.

Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such

excess

As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

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.

80

Prin. Here comes Bovet, and mirth is in his face.
Boyet. O! I am stabb'd with laughter. Where's
her grace?
Prin. Thy news, Boyet?
Boyet.

Prepare, madam, prepare!
Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are
Against your peace: Love doth approach dis-
guis'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 Denis to Saint Cupid! What are
they

That charge their breath against us? say, scout,
say.

91

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
The king and his companions: warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
And overheard what you shall overhear;
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
Their herald is a pretty knavish page,

That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage:
Action and accent did they teach him there;
Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear':
And ever and anon they made a doubt
Presence majestical would put him out;

101

For,' quoth the king, an angel shalt thou see;
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.'
The boy replied, 'An angel is not evil;

I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.'
With that all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the
shoulder,

110

Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace;
But while 'tis spoke each turn away her face.
Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the
speaker's heart,

And quite divorce his memory from his part. 150
Prin. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown,
To make theirs ours and ours none but our own:
So shall we stay, mocking intended game,
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame.
Trumpets sound within.
Boyet. The trumpet sounds: be mask'd; the
maskers come.
The Ladies mask.
Enter Blackamoors with music; MOTH; the KING,
BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAINE, in
Russian habits, and masked.

Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!
Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.
Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames,

169

The Ladies turn their backs to him. That ever turn'd their-backs-to mortal views ! Berowne. Their eyes,' villain, 'their eyes.' 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

Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd, and swore
A better speech was never spoke before;
Another, with his finger and his thumb,
Cry'd 'Via! we will do 't, come what will come';
The third he caper'd, and cried, 'All goes well';—with your sun-beamed eyes-

The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
With that, they all did tumble on the ground,
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.
Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us?
Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparell'd
thus,

120

Like Muscovites, or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress, which they 'll know
By favours several which they did bestow.

Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be
task'd;

For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd,
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face.

Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear, 130
And then the king will court thee for his dear:
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine,
So shall Berowne take me for Rosaline.
And change you favours too; so shall your loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.

Ros. Come on then; wear the favours most
in sight.

140

Kath. But in this changing what is your intent?
Prin. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs:
They do it but in mocking merriment;
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display'd, to talk and greet.

Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?
Prin. No; to the death, we will not move a
foot:

Berowne. Once to behold,' rogue.

Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes,

170

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.

Berowne. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you
rogue!
Exit MOTH.

Ros. What would these strangers? know their
minds, Boyet.

If they do speak our language, 'tis our will
That some plain man recount their purposes :
Know what they would.

Boyet. What would you with the princess?
Berowne. Nothing but peace and gentle visi-
tation.

180

Ros. What would they, say they?
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.

:

190

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.

Berowne. Tell her we measure them by weary
steps.

Boyet. She hears herself.

Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to And would afford my speechless visor half.

shine, Those clouds remov'd, upon our watery 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.

Re-enter the KING, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.
Ay, in truth, my lord;
DUMAINE, in their proper habits.

Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. 390
Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your
highness sad?

Ros. Help! hold his brows! he'll swoon.
Why look you pale?

What did the Russian whisper in your ear?
Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
As precious eyesight, and did value me
Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord

Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
Berowne. Thus pour the stars down plagues for Most honourably doth uphold his word.
perjury.

Can any face of brass hold longer out? Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me;

430

Bruise me with scorn, confound me witha flout;
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance,
Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O! never will I trust to speeches penn'd,
Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue,
Nor never come in visor to my friend,
Nor woo in rime, like a blind harper's song,
Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,

Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical; these summer-flies

410

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation :
I do forswear them; and I here protest,
By this white glove,-how white the hand,
God knows,-

Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In russet yeas and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench,--so God help me, la !—
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Ros. Sanssans,' I pray you.
Berowne.
Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick;
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft! 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:
These lords are visited; you are not free,
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.
Prin. No, they are free that gave these tokens

to us.

420

Berowne. Our states are forfeit: seek not to undo us.

Ros. It is not so. For how can this be true, That you stand forfeit, being those that sue? Berowne. Peace! for I will not have to do with you.

Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. Berowne. Speak for yourselves: my wit is at an end.

430

King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression

Some fair excuse.

King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth,

I never swore this lady such an oath.

450

Ros. By heaven, you did; and to confirm it
plain,

You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.
King. My faith and this the princess I did
give :

I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear. What, will you have me, or your pearl again?

460

Berowne. Neither of either; I remit both twain.
I see the trick on 't: here was a consent,
Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
To dash it like a Christmas comedy.
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight

Welcome, pure wit! thou part'st a fair fray.
Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know,
Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no.
Berowne. What, are there but three?
Cost.

No, sir; but it is vara fine,

For every one pursents three.

Berowne.

And three times thrice is nine. Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir, I hope it is not so.

You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir ;
we know what we know:

I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,—
Berowne.

490

Is not nine.

Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

Berowne. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

Cost. O Lord, sir! it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir.