Prin. Go, fickness as thou art !

Rof. Well, better wits have worn plain ftatute-caps.
But will you hear? the King is my love fworn.
Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Cath. And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as fure as bark on tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty miftreffes, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here

In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digeft this harfh indignity.
Prin. Will they return?

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows;
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
Therefore, change Favours; and, when they repair,
Blow, like fweet roses, in this fummer air.

Prin. How, blow? how, blow? fpeak to be understood.

Boyet. Fair ladies, mafkt, are rofes in the bud; Or angels veil'd in clouds: are roles blown,, Difmafkt, their damak fweet Commixture fhewn. Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! what shall we do, If they return in their own fhapes to woo?

Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, Let's mock them ftill, as well known, as disguis'd; Let us complain to them what fools were here, Difguis'd, like Mufcovites, in fhapeless gear; And wonder what they were, and to what end Their fhallow Shows, and Prologue vilely pen'd, And their rough carriage fo 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 o'er the land.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE VII.

Before the Princess's Pavilion.

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain in their own habits; Boyet, meeting them.

King. FAIR Sir, God fave you! Where's the

Princess ?

Boyet. Gone to her Tent.

Please it your Majefty, command me any fervice to

her?

[word. King. That he vouchfafe me audience for one Boyet. I will; and fo will fhe, I know, my lord.

[Exit. Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas ; And utters it again, when Jove doth please : He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares At wakes and waffals, meetings, markets, fairs: And we that fell by grofs, the Lord doth know, Have not the grace to grace it with fuch show. This Gallant pins the wenches on his fleeve; Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. He can carve too, and lifp: why, this is he, That kift away his hand in courtesy; This is the ape of form, Monfieur the nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms: nay, he can fing A mean moft mainly; and, in ufhering, Mend him who can; the ladies call him sweet; The ftairs, as he treads on them, kifs his feet. This is the flower, that fmiles on every one, To fhew his teeth, as white as whale his bone.And confciences, that will not die in debt, Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.

King, A blifter on his fweet tongue with my heart,

That put Armado's Page out of his Part!

SCENE

Enter the Princefs, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine, Boyet, and Attendants.

Biron.

EE, where it comes; * behaviour, what

SEEwert

thou,

'Till this man fhew'd thee? and what art thou now? King. All hail, fweet Madam, and fair time of day!

Prin. Fair in all hail is foul, as I conceive. King. Conftrue my speeches better, if you may. Prin. Then with me better, I will give you leave. King. We come to vifit you, and purpose now

To lead you to our Court; vouchsafe it then. Prin. This field fhall hold me, and fo hold your

Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men.

King. Rebuke me not for That, which you provoke:

The virtue of your eye muft break my oath. Prin. You nick-name virtue; vice you should have spoke :

For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unfully'd lilly, I proteft,

A world of torments though I should endure,

I would not yield to be your houfe's gueft: So much I hate a breaking caufe to be Of heav'nly oaths, vow'd with integrity.

'Till this man fhewed thee? and what art thou now?] These are two wonderfully fine Lines, intimating that what Courts call Manners, and value themselves fo much upon Teaching, as a Thing no where elle to be learnt, is a modest filent Accomplishment under the Direction of Nature and Common Sense, which does its Office-in promoting focial Life without being taken Notice of. But that when it degenerates into Shew and Parade it becomes an unmanly contemptible Quality.

King. O, you have liv'd in defolation here, Unfeen, unvifited, much to our fhame. Prin. Not fo, my lord; it is not so, I swear; We have had paftimes here, and pleasant game. A mefs of Ruffians left us but of late.

King. How, Madam? Ruffians?

Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord;

Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.

Rof. Madam, fpeak true. It is not fo, my lord: My lady (to the manner of the days)

In courtesy gives undeferving praise.

We four, indeed, confronted were with four
In Ruffian habit: here they ftaid an hour,
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not blefs us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
When they are thirfty, fools would fain have drink.
Biron. This jeft is dry to me. Fair, gentle, fweet,
Your wit makes wife things foolish; when we greet
With eyes beft feeing heaven's fiery eye,

By light we lofe light; your capacity

Is of that nature, as to your huge store

Wife things feem foolish, and rich things but poor. Ref. This proves you wife and rich; for in my

eye

Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty.

Rof. But that you take what doth to you belong, It were a fault to fnatch words from my tongue. Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I-poffefs. Rof. All the fool mine?

Biron. I cannot give you lefs.

Rof. Which of the vifors was it, that you wore? Biryn. Where? when? what visor? why demand you this?

Rof. There, then, that vifor, that fuperfluous Cafe, That hid the worse, and fhew'd the better face. King. We are defcried; they'll mock us now downright.

Dum.

Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.

Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? why looks your Highness fad?

Rof. Help, hold his brows, he'll fwoon: why look you pale?

Sea-fick, I think, coming from Muscovy.

Biron. Thus pour the ftars down plagues for Perjury.

Can any face of brafs hold longer out?

Here ftand I, lady, dart thy skill at me;

Bruise me with fcorn, confound me with a flout, Thruft thy fharp wit quite through my ignorance; Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit, And I will with thee never more to dance, Nor never more in Ruffian habit wait. O! never will I truft to fpeeches pen'd,

Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue;

Nor never come in visor to my friend,

Nor woo in rhime, like a blind harper's fong. Taffata-phrases, filken terms precise,

Three pil'd hyperboles, fpruce affectation, Figures pedantical, these summer-flies,

Have blown me full of maggot oftentation:

I do forfwear them; and I here protest,

By this white glove, (how white the hand, God
knows!)

Henceforth my wooing mind fhall be exprest
In ruffet yeas, and honeft kerfy noes:
And to begin, wench (fo God help me, law!)
My love to thee is found, fans crack or flaw.
Rof. Sans, fans, I pray you.

Biron. Yet I have a trick

Of the old rage: bear with me, I am fick.
I'll leave it by degrees: foft, let us fee;
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on thofe three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lies;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
Thefe lords are vifited, you are not free;

For