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Or yield up Aquitain.

We arrest your

Boyet, you can produce acquittances,
For such a sum, from special officers
Of Charles his father.



Satisfy me so.

Boy. So please your grace, the packet is not


Where that and other specialties are bound;
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

King. It shall suffice me: at which interview,
All liberal reason I will yield unto.
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand,
As honour, without breach of honour, may
Make tender of to thy true worthiness:
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates;
But here without you shall be so receiv'd,
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart,
Though so denied fair harbour in my house.
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewel:
To-morrow shall we 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. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.


Rosa. 'Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.

Biron. I would, you hear'd it

Rosa. Is the fool sick?

Biron. Sick at the heart.

Rosa. Alack, let it blood.
Biron. Would that do it good?
Rosa. My physick says, I.
Biron. Will you prick't with your eye?
Rosa. No poynt, with my knife.
Biron. Now, God save thy life!

Rosa. And yours from long living!
Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring.
Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word: What lady is that

Boy. The heir of Alençon, Rosaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well. [Exit. Long. I beseech you, a word; What is she in the white?

Boy. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.

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

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

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?
Boy. Her mother's, I have hear'd.
Long. God's blessing on your beard!
Boy. Good, sir, be not offended:
She is an heir of Falconbridge.

Long. Nay, my choler is ended. She is a most sweet lady.

Boy. Not unlike, sir; that may be.

Biron. What's her name, in the cap?
Boy. Katharine, by good hap.

[Exit Long.

Biron. Is she wedded, or no? Boy. To her will, sir, or so. Biron. You are welcome, sir; adieu! Boy. Farewel to me, sir, and welcome to you, [Exit Biron. Ladies unmask. is Biron, the merry mad-cap

Mar. That last lord;

Not a word with him but a jest.
And every jest but a word.
Prin. It was well done of you, to take him at
his word.

Boy. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board.

Mar. Too hot sheeps, marry!


And wherefore not ships? No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; Shall that finish the jest?

Boy. So you grant pasture for me.

[Offering to kiss her.

Not so, gentle beast;
My lips are no common, though several they be.
Boy. Belonging to whom?

To my fortunes and me.
Prin. Good wits will be jangling: but, gentles,


The civil war of wits were much better used

On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused. Boy. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,)

By the heart's still rhetorick, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what?

Boy. With that which we lovers intitle, affected. Prin. Your reason?

Boy. 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 where 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

Boy. 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. Rosa. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st skilfully.

Mur. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.

Rosa. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim.

Boy. Do you hear, my mad wenches?



What then, do you


Rosa. Ay, our way to be




You are too hard for me.


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