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Dear Princess, were not his requests so far
From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breaft;
And go well satisfied to France again.

Prin. You do the King my father too much wrong,
And wrong the reputation of your name,
In so unfeeming to confess receipt
Of that which hath fo faithfully been paid.

King. I do protest I never heard of it ;
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.

Prin. We arrest your word.
Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For such a sum, from special officers
Of Charles his father.

King. Satisfy me fo.

Boyet. So please your Grace, the packet is not come
Where that and other specialties are bound:
To-morrow

you shall have a fight of them.
King. It shall suffice me; at which interview,
All liberal reason I will yield unto:
Mean time receive such welcome at my hand,
As honour without breach of honour may
Make tender of, to thy true worthiness.
You may not come, fair Princess, in my gates;
But here, without, you shall be fo received,
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart,
Though fo deny'd fair harbour in my house:
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell;
To-morrow we shall visit

you again.
Prin. Sweet health and fair desires confort your Grace!
King. Thy own with wish I thee in every place.
Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.

Rof. I pray you, do my commendations;
I would be glad to see it.
Biron. I would
you

Dum.

[Exit

.

heard it grone.

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Dum. Sir

, I pray you a word: what lady is that fame?
Boyet. The heir of Alenoçn, Rosaline her name.
Dum. A gallant lady: Monfieur, fare you well. [Exit.
Long. I beseech you a word: what, is the in white t?
Boyet. She is an heir of Faulconbridge [.
Long. She is a most sweet lady.
Boyet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be ll. [Exit Long
02

If

Ros. Alack, let it blood.
Biron. Would that do it good?
Rof. My phylic says. Ay.
Biron. Will you prick'e with your eye?
Roj

. No, poynt, With my knife.
Biron. Now, God save thy life!
Rof

. And yours from long living! Biron. cannot stay thanksgiving. Dum. Sit, &c.

(Exit.

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Me in white?
Boyet. A woman fonietimes, if you saw her in the lights
Long. Perchance light in the light

I dtfire her name.
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 blefling on your beard!
Boyet. Good Sir, be not offended.
She is an, &c.

- Faulconbridge.
Long. Nay, my choler is ended :

She is, &c.
# that may be.

Biron. What's her name in the cap?
Boyet. Catharine, by good hap.
Biron Is she wedded, or po?
Boyet. To her will, Sir, or so.
Biron, You are welconie, Sir : adieu!
Boyet. Farewell to me, Sir, and welcome to you.
Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord;
Not a word with him but a jeft.

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.

[Exit Biron.

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If my observation, (which very feldom lies,)
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected *.
Rol. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakeft skill-

fully.
Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of

him.
Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father

is but grim.
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?
Mar. No.
Boyet. What then? do

you
fee?

Rol.

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

Mar. Not fo, gentle beaft;
My lips are no common, though several they be.

Boyet. Belonging to whom?
Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree.
This civil war of wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd.
If my observation, &c.

is infected.
Prin. With what?
Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle 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 agare with your print impreffed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not fee,
Did stumble with halte in his eye-fight to be:
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on faireft of fair;
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels iu crystal for some prince did buy;
Who tend’ring their own worth, from whence they were glass’d,
Did point out to buy them, along as you pass'd.
His face's own margent did quote such a mazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes inchanted with gazes :
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An' you give him for my fake but one loving kiss.

Prin. Come, to your pavilion: Boyet is difpos'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.

Rof. Thou art, &c.

Rof. Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet. You are too hard for me.

ACT III. SCENE I.

[Excunt.

The park, near the palace.
Enter Armado and Moth.

W

;

Arm. 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 fwain ; bring him festinately hither: 1 mult employ him in a letter to my love.

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

Arm. How mean'st 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; figh a note and sing a note; sometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love; sometimes through the nose, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossd 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 'complishments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without these, and make them men of note (do you note me?) that are moft affected to these?

Arm. How hast thou purchas'd this experience?
Moth. By my pen of observation.
Arm. But O, but O.
Moth. The hobby horse is forgot *.
Arm. Call'st thou my love hobby-horse ?

Moth. No, Maiter; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney: but have you forgot your love? Arm. Almost I had.

Mo!!. • The burden of an old song,

O 3

Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in her heart, boy.
Moth. And out of heart, Master: all those three I

will prove:

Årm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live: and this by, and in, and out of, 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 message well fympathiz'd; a horse to be ambassador for an ass.

Arm. Ha, ha; what say'ít thou?

Moth. Marry, Sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very flow-gated: but I go.

Arm. The way is but short; away.
Moth. As swift as lead, Sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead of metal heavy, dull, and flow?

Moth. Minimé, honest Mafter; or rather, Maiter, no.
Arm. I say, lead is now.

Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
Is that lead slow, Sir, which is fir'd from a gun?

Arm. Sweet smoak of rhetoric!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
I shoot thee at the swain.
Moth. Thump then, and I fly.

[Exit.
Arm. A most acute juvenile, voluble, and free of grace;
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face.
Moit rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd.

SCENE

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