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strangling a snake; and I will have an apology | But, Rosaline, you have a favour too : for that purpose. Who sent it? and what is it? Ros.

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Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the audience hiss, you may cry Well done, Hercules! now thou crushest the snake!' that is the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it.

Arm. For the rest of the Worthies?
Hol. I will play three myself.
Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman!
Arm. Shall I tell you a thing

Hol. We attend.


Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antick. I beseech you, follow.

Hol. Via, goodman Dull! thou hast spoken no word all this while.

Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir.
Hol. Allons! we will employ thee.

Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play


On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.

Hol. Most dull, honest Dull. To our sport, away!

SCENE II.-The Same. Before the PRINCESS'S Pavilion.



and MARIA.

Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,

If fairings come thus plentifully in:

A lady wall'd about with diamonds!
Look you what I have from the loving king.

Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that? Prin. Nothing but this! yes; as much love in rime

As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all,
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.
Ros. That was the way to make his godhead

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For he hath been five thousand years a boy. Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him: a' kill'd your sister.

Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; And so she died: had she been light, like you, Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, She might ha' been a grandam ere she died; And so may you, for a light heart lives long. Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?

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I would you knew:
An if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne :
The numbers true; and, were the numbering too,
I were the fairest goddess on the ground:
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
O he hath drawn my picture in his letter.
Prin. Any thing like?

Ros. Much in the letters, nothing in the praise.
Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion. 41
Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
Ros. 'Ware pencils, ho! let me not die your

My red dominical, my golden letter:
O! that your face were not so full of O's.

Prin. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all

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That same Berowne I'll torture ere I go.
O! that I knew he were but in by the week.
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rimes,
And shape his service wholly to my hests,
And make him proud to make me proud that jests!
So perttaunt-like would I o'ersway his state
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.

Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd,

As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd, 70 Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.

Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such


As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; Since all the power thereof it doth apply To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

Enter BOYET.

Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
Boyet. O! I am stabb'd with laughter. Where's
her grace?
Prin. Thy news, Boyet?

Arm, wenches, arm! Against your peace: guis'd,


Prepare, madam, prepare! encounters mounted are Love doth approach dis

Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd: Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. Prin. Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they

That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.


Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour, When, lo! to interrupt my purpos'd rest, Toward that shade I might behold addrest The king and his companions: warily I stole into a neighbour thicket by, And overheard what you shall overhear; That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. Their herald is a pretty knavish page, That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage: Action and accent did they teach him there; 'Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear': And ever and anon they made a doubt Presence majestical would put him out; 'For,' quoth the king, an angel shalt thou see; Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.' The boy replied, 'An angel is not evil;


I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.' With that all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the shoulder,

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Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd, and swore
A better speech was never spoke before;
Another, with his finger and his thumb,
Cry'd 'Via! we will do 't, come what will come';
The third he caper'd, and cried, All goes well
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
With that, they all did tumble on the ground,
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.
Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us?
Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparell'd


Like Muscovites, or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress, which they 'll know
By favours several which they did bestow.
Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be

For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd,
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face.
Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear, 130
And then the king will court thee for his dear:
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine,
So shall Berowne take me for Rosaline.
And change you favours too; so shall your loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.
Ros. Come on then; wear the favours most
in sight.


Kath. But in this changing what is your intent? Prin. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs: They do it but in mocking merriment; And mock for mock is only my intent. Their several counsels they unbosom shall To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal Upon the next occasion that we meet, With visages display'd, to talk and greet. Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? Prin. No; to the death, we will not move a foot:

Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace; But while 'tis spoke each turn away her face.

Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart,

And quite divorce his memory from his part. 150
Prin. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown,
To make theirs ours and ours none but our own:
So shall we stay, mocking intended game,
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame.
Trumpets sound within.
Boyet. The trumpet sounds: be mask'd; the
maskers come.
The Ladies mask,
Enter Blackamoors with music; MOTH; the KING,
Russian habits, and masked.

Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!
Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.
Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames,


The Ladies turn their backs to him.

That ever turn'd their-backs-to mortal views! Berowne. 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, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe

Not to behold

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Berowne. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue! Exit MOTH.

Ros. What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet.

If they do speak our language, 'tis our will That some plain man recount their purposes: Know what they would.

Boyet. What would you with the princess? Berowne. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.


Ros. What would they, say they?
Boyet. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
Ros. Why, that they have; and bid them so
be 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 this grass. Boyet. They say, that they have measur'd many a mile

To tread a measure with you on this grass.

Ros. 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 do fill up one mile.

Berowne. Tell her we measure them by weary

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Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to And would afford my speechless visor half.

shine, Those clouds remov'd, upon our watery eyne. Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. King. Then, in our measure vouchsafe but one change.


Thou bidd'st me beg; this begging is not strange. Ros. Play, music, then! nay, you must do it Music plays. 211 Not yet! no dance! thus change I like the moon. King. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?

Ros. You took the moon at full, but now she's changed.

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it. Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. King. But your legs should do it. Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance, We'll not be nice: take hands :-we will not dance. King. Why take we hands then?

Ros. Only to part friends. 220 Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. King. More measure of this measure: be not nice.

Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. King. Prize you yourselves? What buys your company?

Ros. Your absence only.

That can never be.

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Kath. Veal,' quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf?

Long. A calf, fair lady!

No, a fair lord calf.

Long. Let's part the word.

No, I'll not be your half: Take all, and wean it: it may prove an ox.


Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks.

Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. Kath. Bleat softly then; the butcher hears They converse apart.

you cry.

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Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.

Ros. Not one word more, my maids: break off, break off.

Berowne. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!

King. Farewell, mad wenches : you have simple wits.

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.

Exeunt KING, Lords, Music and Attendants. Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.

Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.


Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! Will they not, think you, hang themselves tonight? Or ever, but in visors, show their faces? This pert Berowne was out of countenance quite. Ros. O they were all in lamentable cases. The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin. Berowne did swear himself out of all suit. Mar. Dumaine was at my service, and his sword: 'No point,' quoth I: my servant straight was mute.

Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;

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Go, sickness as thou art! 280 Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statutecaps.

But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. Prin. And quick Berowne hath plighted faith

to me.

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Therefore change favours; and when they repair, Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.

Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be understood.

Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud:

Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown,

Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do If they return in their own shapes to woo? Ros. Good madam, if by me you 'll be advis'd, Let's mock them still, as well known as disguis'd. 301 Let us complain to them what fools were here, Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; And wonder what they were, and to what end Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn'd, And their rough carriage so 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 over land. Exeunt PRINCESS, ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA.

Re-enter the KING, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAINE, in their proper habits.

King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is the princess?


Boyet. Gone to her tent. Please it your majesty, Command me any service to her thither? King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.
Berowne. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons

And utters it again when God doth please.
He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares
At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs;
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; 321
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.
A' can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy ;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms: nay, he can sing
A mean most meanly, and, in ushering,
Mend him who can the ladies call him sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet. 330
This is the flower that smiles on every one,
To show his teeth as white as whales-bone;
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongu'd Boyet.
King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my

That put Armado's page out of his part!

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Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur'd men. King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke: The virtue of your eye must break my oath. Prin. You nickname 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 unsullied lily, I protest,

A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest;
So much I hate a breaking cause to be
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
King. O you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.


Prin. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear: We have had pastimes here and pleasant game. A mess of Russians left us but of late. King. How, madam! Russians! Prin.


Ay, in truth, my lord; Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state. Ros. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord: My lady, to the manner of the days, In courtesy gives undeserving praise. We four, indeed, confronted were with four In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour, And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, They did not bless us with one happy word. 370 I dare not call them fools; but this I think, When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. Berowne. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle


Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we greet,

With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light your capacity
Is of that nature that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.
Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my


Berowne. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 380 Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong, It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. Berowne. O! I am yours, and all that I possess. Ros. All the fool mine? Berowne. I cannot give you less. Ros. Which of the visors was it that you wore? Berowne. Where? when? what visor? why demand you this?

Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous


That hid the worse and show'd the better face. King. We are descried: they 'Il mock us now


Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. 390 | What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your
highness sad?

Ros. Help! hold his brows! he'll swoon.
Why look you pale?

Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
As precious eyesight, and did value me
Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord

Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
Berowne. Thus pour the stars down plagues for Most honourably doth uphold his word.

Can any face of brass hold longer out? Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me;


Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout;
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance,
Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O! never will I trust to speeches penn'd,
Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue,
Nor never come in visor to my friend,

Nor woo in rime, like a blind harper's song,
Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,

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


Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
I do forswear them; and I here protest,
By this white glove,-how white the hand,
God knows,-

Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In russet yeas and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench,-so God help me, la !—
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Ros. Sans'sans,' I pray you.
Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick;
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft! let us see:
Write Lord have mercy on us' on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lies;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are visited; you are not free,
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.
Prin. No, they are free that gave these tokens

to us.


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And were you well advis'd?

King. I was, fair madam.

When you then were here,
What did you whisper in your lady's ear?
King. That more than all the world I did
respect her.

Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will
reject her.

King. Upon mine honour, no.

Peace! peace! forbear:
Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.
King. Despise me, when I break this oath of
Prin. I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline,


King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth,

I never swore this lady such an oath.


Ros. By heaven, you did; and to confirm it

You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.
King. My faith and this the princess I did
give :

I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear. What, will you have me, or your pearl again?


Berowne. Neither of either; I remit both twain.
I see the trick on 't: here was a consent,
Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
To dash it like a Christmas comedy.
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight

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Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire.
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our page out: go, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye
Wounds like a leaden sword.


Full merrily
Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
Berowne. Lo! he is tilting straight. Peace!
I have done.


Welcome, pure wit! thou part'st a fair fray.
Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know,
Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no.
Berowne. What, are there but three?

No, sir; but it is vara fine,

For every one pursents three.

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