Rof. We need more light to find your meaning out. Rof. Look what you do; and do it still i' th' dark. Rof. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light... Cath. You weigh me not; O, that's, you care not for me. Ref. Great reafon; for paft Cure is ftill paft Care. (33) Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd. But, Rofaline, you have a Favour too: Who fent it? and what is it? Rof. I would you knew. And if my face were but as fair as yours, Rof. Much in the letters, nothing in the praife. Rof. Ware pencils. How? let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter. O, that your face were not fo full of Oes! Cath. Pox of that jeft, and I befhrew all fhrews (34). (33) for paft Care is fill paft Cure.] The Transposition which I have made in the two Words, Care and Cure, is by the Direction of the ingenious Dr. Thirlby. The Reason speaks for itfelf. (34) Prin. Pox of that jeft, and I befbrew all Shrews. As the Princess has behav'd with great Decency all along hitherto, there is no Reafon to be affign'd why she should start all at orce into this courfe Dialect. But am perfuaded, the Editors only have made her go out of Character. In short, Rofaline and Catharine are rallying one another without Referve; and to Catharine this firft Line certainly belong'd, and therefore I have ventur'd once more to put her in possession of it. Prin Prin. But what was fent to you from fair Dumaine ? Cath. Madam, this glove. Prin. Did he not fend you twain? Cath. Yes, Madam; and moreover, Mar. This, and thefe pearls, to me fent Longavile; The letter is too long by half a mile. Prin. I think no lefs; doit thou not wish in heart, The chain were longer, and the letter short? Mar. Ay, or I would thefe hands might never part. Prin. We are wife girls, to mock our lovers for't. Rof. They are worse fools to purchase mocking fo. That fame Biron I'll torture, ere I go. O, that I knew he were but in by th' week! And make him proud to make me proud with jefts: Prin. None are fo furely caught, when they are As wit turn'd fool; folly, in wifdom hatch'd, Rof. The blood of youth burns not in such excess, (35) So pertaunt like would I o'erfway bis State.] If the Editors are acquainted with this Word, and can account for the Meaning of it, their Induftry has been more fuccefsful than mine, for I can no where trace it. So pedant-like, as I have ventur'd to replace in the Text, makes very good Senfe, i. e. in fuch lordly, controlling, manner would I bear Myself over him, &c. What Biron fays of a Pedant, towards the Conclufion of the 2d Act, countenances this Conjecture. A domineering Pedant o'er the boy, Mar. Mar. Folly in fools, bears not fo ftrong a note, Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. Prin. Thy news, Boyet? Boyet. Prepare, Madam, prepare. Arm, wenches, arm; Encounters mounted are That well by heart hath conn'd his embaffage. I fhould have fear'd her, had the been a Devil. One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd, and swore, Ano Another with his finger and his thumb, Cry'd, via! we will do't, come what will come. To check their folly, paffion's folemn tears. Prin. But what, but what, come they to vifit us? Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparell'd thus, Like Mufcovites, or Ruffians, as I guess. Their purpofe is to parley, court and dance; And every one his love-feat will advance Unto his fev'ral mistress; which they'll know By favours fev'ral, which they did bestow. Prin. And will they for the gallants shall be taskt; Hold, Rofaline; this favour thou shalt wear, And change your Favours too; fo shall your Loves Rof. Come on then, wear the Favours most in fight. Cath. But in this changing, what is your intent? Prin Th' effect of my intent is to cross theirs ; They do it but in mocking merriment, And mock for mock is only my intent. Rof. But fhall we dance, if they defire us to't ? heart, And And quite divorce his memory from his Part. There's no fuch Sport, as Sport by Sport o'erthrown ; And they, well mockt, depart away with fhame. [Sound. come. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, Dumain, and attendants, difguis'd like Mofcovites; Moth with Mufick, as for a masquerade. Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth! [The ladies turn their backs to him. Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views. Out Biron. 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 fun-beamed eyes With your fun-beamed eyes Boyet. They will not answer to that epithete; You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes. Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. (36) Biron. Beauties, no richer than rich Taffata.] i. e. The Taffata Masks they wore to conceal Themselves. All the Editors concur to give this Line to Biron; but, furely, very abfurdly; for he's One of the zealous Admirers, and hardly would make fuch an Inference. Boyet is fneering at the Parade of their Addrefs, is in the fecret of the Ladies' Stratagem, and makes himself Sport at the Abfurdity of their Proëm, in complimenting their Beauty, when they were mask'd. It therefore comes from him with the utmost Propriety, Biron. A |