Mar. Say you so? Fair lord,→ Please it you, Take that for your fair lady. Dum. 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. And would afford my speechless visor half. a calf? Long. A calf, fair lady? Kath. No, a fair lord calf. half: Long. Let's part the word. Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. cry. Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As 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. Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits. [Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, music, and attend ants. 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, kingly-poor flout! Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night? Or ever, but in visors, show their faces? This pert Birón was out of countenance quite. Ros. O they were all in lamentable cases! The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. Prin. Birón 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? Prin. Kath. Yes, in good faith. Qualm, perhaps. Go, sickness as thou art! Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute caps.2 But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.. In their own shapes; for it can never be, Boyet. They will, they will, God knows; And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows: Therefore, change favours ;3 and when they repair, (1) A quibble on the French adverb of negation. (2) Better wits may be found among citizens., Features, countenances. Blow like sweet roses in the 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 veiling 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 over land. [Exeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their proper habits. King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is the princess? 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. Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: (1) Uncouth. (2) Rustic merry-meetings. This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; 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, Katharine, and attendants. Biron. See where it comes!-Behaviour, what wert thou, Till this man 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. Prin. This field shall hold me; and so hold your VOW: Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men. King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ; The virtue of your eye must break my oath. (1) The tenor in music. (2) The tooth of the horse-whale. Prin. You nick-name virtue: vice you should have spoke; For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. A world of torments though I should endure, Prin. I swear. Ay, in truth, my lord; Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. Ros. Madam, speak true :-It is not so, my lord; Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet Is of that nature, that to your huge store eye, Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong, It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. (1) After the fashion of the times. |