Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that? Prin. Nothing but this? yes, as much love in rhyme As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, Ros. That was the way to make his god-head wax"; 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; he 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 have been a grandam ere she died: And so may you; for a light heart lives long. Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouset, of this light word? Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. Ros. We need more light to find your meaning out. Kath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snufft; Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. 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,-O, that's you care not for me. Ros. Great reason; for, Past cure is still past care. 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. 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 Birón: * Grow. + In anger. Formerly a term of endearment. The numbers true; and, were the numb'ring too, 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: O, that your face were not so full of O's! Kath. A pox of that jest! and beshrew all shrows! Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Du main? Kath. Madam, this glove. Prin. 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 Birón I'll torture ere I go. O, 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 ex cess, 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. Prin. Here comes Boyet, 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 disguis'd, Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say. I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour: And ever and anon they made a doubt, Presence majestical would put him out: I should have fear'd her, had she been a devil, With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder; Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. One rubb'd his elbow, thus; and fleer'd, and swore, Cry'd, Via! we will do't, come what will come : 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 apparel'd thus, 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: For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd; Hold, Rosaliue, this favour thou shalt wear; And change you favours too; so shall your loves Ros. Come on then; wear the favours most in sight. They do it but in mocking merriment; 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: 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. 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 mask. [The ladies mask ers come. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in Russian habits, and musked; Moth, musicians and attendants. Moth. All hail! the richest beauties on the earth! [The ladies turn their backs to him. That ever turn'd their-backs-to mortal views! Biron. Their eyes, villain, thir 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 Biron. Once to behold, rogue. |