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For the lord's tokens on you both I see.
Rof. It is not so; for how can this be true,
gression Some fair excuse.
Prin. The faireft is confeffion.
King. Madam, I was.
Prin. When you then were here,
her. Prin. When the shall challenge this, you will re
King. Upon mine honour, no.
forbear: Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.
King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.
Prin. I will, and therefore keep it. Rosaline, What did the Ruffian whisper in your ear?
Rof. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear As precious eye-fight; and did value me Above this world ; adding thereto, moreover, That he would wed me, or else die
lover, Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord Most honourably doth uphold his word. King. What mean you, Madam? by my life, my
troth, I never swore this lady such an oath.
Ros. By heav'n, you did; and to confirm it plain, You gave me this : but take it, Sir, again. King. My faith, and this, to th' Princess
. I did give; I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.
Prin. Pardon me, Sir, this jewel did she wear:
Biron. Neither of either : I remit both twain.
And laugh upon the apple of her eye,
Holding a trencher, jefting merrily?
Boyet. Full merrily
-- fmiles his cheek in years, --] Mr. Theobald says, he cannot, for his Heart, comprehend the Sense of this Phrase. It was not his Heart but his Head that stood in his Way. In Years, fignifies, into Wriokles. So in The Merchant of Venice,
Witń mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
Cost. O lord, Sir, they would know
Biron. What, are there but three ?
Coft. No, Sir, but it is vara fine; For every one pursents three.
Biron. And three times three is nine ?
Cost. Not so, Sir, under correction, Sir; I hope, it is not so. You cannot beg us, Sir; I can assure you, Sir, we know what we know: I hope, three times thrice, SirBiron. Is not nine.
Coft. Under corredion, Sir, we know where until it doth amount.
Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.
Cost. O lord, Sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, Sir.
Biron. How much is it?
Cost. O lord, Sir, the parties themselves, the actors, Sir, will shew whereuntil it doth amount; for my own part, I am, as they say, but to perfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, Sir.
Biron. Art thou one of the worthies !
Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy of Ponipion the Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am to stand for him.
Biron. Go bid them prepare.
Cost. We will turn it finely off, Sir, we will take some care.
King. Biron, they will shame us; let them not approach.
Exit Coit. Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord; and 'tis
fome policy To have one Show worse than the King's and his Company
King. I say, they shall not come.
Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now;
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.
S CE N E IX.
of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words.
Prin. Doth this man serve God ?
Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding i fantaltical; too, too vain; too, too vain : but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la guerra. I wish you ihe peace of mind, most royal coupplement.
King. Here is like to be a good presence of Wor-
the fool, and the boy.
Enter Costard for Pompey.
Biron. Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends with thee.
Coft. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the Big.
Cost. It is Great, Sir; Pompey, surnam'd the Great ; That oft in field, with targe and field,
Did make my foe to sweat: And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance; And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet Lass of France. If your ladyship would say, thanks, ---Pompey, I had
done. Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.
Coft. 'Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect. I made a little fault in great.
Biron. My hat to a half-penny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.
Enter Nathaniel for Alexander. Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's
Commander; By east, weft, north and south, I spread my conquering
might: My 'Scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alifander. Boyet. Your nofe says, no, you are not; for it
stands too right. Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, moft tender
smelling Knight. Prin. The Conqueror is dismaid: proceed, good
Alexander. * With Libbard's head on knee.] This alludes to the old heroic Habits, which on the Knees and Shoulders had usually, by Way of Ornament, the Resemblance of a Leopard's or Lion's Head.