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Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? you will lose your reputation.
Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.
Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made the challenge.
Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward 62 for penance.
Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that 'a wears next his heart, for a favour.
Mer. God save you, madam!
Prin. Welcome, Mercade;
Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father Prin. Dead, for
life. Mer. Even so; my tale is told. Biron. Worthies, away ; the scene begins to cloud.
Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
[Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your majesty? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
King. Madam, not SO;
I do beseech you, stay. Prin. Prepare, I say. I thank you gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide, The liberal opposition of our spirits: If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord! A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue: Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks For my great suit so easily obtain'd.
King. The extreme parts of time extremely form All causes to the purpose of his speed; And often, at his very loose, decides That which long process could not arbitrate: And though the mourning brow of progeny Forbid the smiling courtesy of love, The holy suit which fain it would convince; Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost, Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, As to rejoice at friends bnt newly found.
Prin. I understood you not; my griefs are double. Biron. Honest plain words '3 best pierce the ear of
grief ;And by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Long. So did our looks.
We did not quote them so.
A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without end bargain in: No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much, Full of dear guiltiness; and, therefore, this,If for my love (as there is no such cause) You will do aught, this shall you do for me: Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed To some forlorn and naked hermitage, Remote from all the pleasures of the world; There stay, until the twelve celestial signs Have brought about their annual reckoning: If this austere insociable life Change not your offer made in heat of blood; If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, But that it bear this trial, and last love; Then, at the expiration of the year, Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts, And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut My woeful self up in a mourning house; Raining the tears of lamentation, For the remembrance of my father's death, If this thou do deny, let our hands part; Neither intitled in the other's heart.
King. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
of mine with restos, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! Hence ever then
ny heart is in thy breast. Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me?
Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank; You are attaint with faults and perjury; Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick.
Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? Kath. A wife?-A beard, fair health, and ho
nesty; With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?
Kath. Not so, my lord ;--a twelvemonth and a day
Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Mar. At the twelvemonth's end,
Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me, Behold the window of
my heart, mine
eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there; Impose some service on me for thy love.