« PredošláPokračovať »
Moth. A boly parcel of the faireft dames, That ever turn'd their backs to mortal views.
Biron. 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, heav'nly Spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold.
Biron. Once to behold, rogue.
Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes With your fun-beamed eyes —
Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet ;
Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out.
Rof. What would these strangers ? know their minds, Boyet.
Boyet. What would you with the princess ?
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 the grass.
Boyet. They say, they have measur'd many a mile, To tread a measure with you on the grass.
Rof. 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.
Boyet. If, to come hither, you have measur’d miles, And
many miles ; the princess bids you tell, How many inches doth fill up one mile? Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.
Boyet. She hcars herself.
Ros. How many weary steps Of many weary
miles you have o'ergone Are number'd in the travel of one mile?
Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you;
Rof. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do. Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine (Those clouds remov’d) upon our watery eyne.
Rof. O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter ; Thou now requeft'st but moonshine in the water.
King. Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change; Thou bid'ft me beg; this begging is not strange.
Ros. Play, musick, then ; nay, you must do it soon.
King. Will you not dance ? how come you thus eftrang’d?
King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
Roj. Our ears vouchfafe it.
Rof. Since you are ftrangers, and come here by chance,
King. Why take you hands then?
Rof: Only to part friends.
King. More measure of this meafure; be not nice.
Rof. Then cannot we be bought; and so, adieu ;
King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
Biron. Nay, then, two treys; and if you grow so nice,
Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu;
Biron. One word in secret.
Mar. Say you so ? fair lord :
Cath. What, was your visor made without a tongue ?
Long. You have a double tongue within your mask,
Cath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman; is not veal a calf?
horns do grow.
Will you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so.
As is the razor's edge invisible,
Above the sense of fense: so sensible
Rof. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.
fcoff. King. Farewell, mad wenches, you have fimple wits.
[ Exeunt King and Lords.
Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Boyet Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.
Prin. O, poverty in wit, kingly poor fout !
Or ever, but in visors, show their faces ?
Rof. O! they were all in lamentable cases. The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit.
Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword : No point, quoth I; my fervant straight was mute.
Cath. Lord Longaville faid, I came o'er his heart;
Prin. Qualm, perhaps.
But will you hear the king is my love sworn.
Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear :
Prin. Will they return ?
Boyet. They will, they will, god knows;
Prin. How blow ? how blow ? speak to be understood.
Boyet. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their bud :
Prin. Avaunt, perplexity ! what shall we do,
Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis’d,
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the gallants are at hand.
habits : Boyet meeting them.