Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell: To-morrow we shall visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your

Grace!

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place! [Exeunt KING and his train. Bir. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart. Ros. Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.

Bir. I would, you heard it groan.

Ros. Is the fool sick?

Bir. Sick at the heart.

Bir. Would that do it good?

Ros. My physic says, ay.

Bir. Will you prick't with your eye?

Ros. No point, with my knife.

Bir.

Now, God save thy life!

Ros. And yours from long living!

Bir. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [They retire. Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word. What lady is that same?

Boyet. The heir of Alençon, Katharine her name. Dum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.

[Exit.

Long. I beseech you a word. What is she in the

white?

Boyet. A woman sometimes, if you saw her in the light.

Long. Perchance, light in the light. I desire her

name.

Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire that, were a shame.

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?

Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard.

Long. God's blessing on your beard!

Boyet. Good sir, be not offended.

She is an heir of Falconbridge.

Long. Nay, my choler is ended.

She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet. Not unlike, sir: that may be. [Exit LONG. What's her name, in the cap?

Bir.

Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap.
Bir. Is she wedded, or no?
Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.
Bir. O! you are welcome, sir.
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and

[Exit BIRONE.

Adieu.

welcome to you.

Ladies unmask.

Mar. That last is Birone, the merry mad-cap lord: Not a word with him but a jest.

Boyet.

And every jest but a word.

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his

word.

Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to

board.

Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry!

Boyet.

And wherefore not ships?

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You sheep, and I pasture: shall that fin

ish the jest?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

Mar.

[Offering to kiss her. Not so, gentle beast.

To my fortunes and me.

My lips are no common, though several they be. Boyet. Belonging to whom?

Mar.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,

agree.

This civil war of wits were much better us'd

On Navarre and his book-men, for here 'tis abus'd.

Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle affected. Prin. Your reason?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their

retire

To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair.
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from whence they
were glass'd,

Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,

An you give him, for my sake, but one loving kiss. Prin. Come to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd. Boyet. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos'd.

I only have made a mouth of his eye,

By adding a tongue, which I know will not lie. Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully.

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news

of him.

Ros. Then was Venus like her mother, for her

father is but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?

W

ACT III.

SCENE I. — Another Part of the Same.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

ARMADO.

ARBLE, child: make passionate my sense of hearing.

Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years: take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Moth. Will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How meanest thou? brawling in French?

Moth. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with the feet; humour it with turning up your eye; sigh a note, and sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime through the nose, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms cross'd on your

thin belly doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without these, and make them men of note, (do you note, men?) that most are affected to these. Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience? Moth. By my penny of observation. Arm. But O,— but 0,

Moth. the hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm. Call'st thou my love hobby-horse?

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

Arm.

Almost I had.

Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart.

Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, master; all those three

I will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live: and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A message well sympathiz'd: a horse to be ambassador for an ass.

Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou?