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For here he doth demand to have repaid
An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,
On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,
To have his title live in Aquitain;
Which we much rather had depart withal,3
And have the money by our father lent,
Than Aquitain so gelded as it is.
Dear princess, were not his requests so far
From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast,
And go well satisfied to France again.
Prin. You do the king my father too much

And wrong the reputation of your name,
In so unseeming to confess receipt
Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.

King. I do protest, I never heard of it;
And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.

We arrest your word:-
Boyet, you can produce acquittances,
For such a sum, from special officers
Of Charles his father."

Satisfy me so.
Boyet. 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, inay
Make tender of to thy true worthiness:
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates;


s- depart withal,] To depart and to part were anciently synonymous.

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 fare-

To-morrow shall we visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your


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

Biron. I would, you heard it groan.
Ros. Is the fool sick ?
Biron. Sick at heart.
Ros. Alack, let it blood.
Biron. Would that do it good?
Ros. My physick says, I.
Biron. Will you prick’t with your eye?
Ros. No poynt,“ with my knife.
Biron. Now, God save thy life!
Ros. And yours from long living!
Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring.
Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word: What lady is that

same? Boyet. 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? Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in

the light.

• No poynt,] A negation borrowed from the French.

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

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.
Biron. What's her name, in the cap?
Boyet. Katharine, by good hap.
Biron. Is she wedded, or no?
Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.
Biron. You are welcome, sir; adieu !
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.

[Exit BIRON.- Ladies unmask. Mar. That last is Biron, 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

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

Mar. Two 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?
Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

[Offering to kiss her. Mar.

Not so, gentle beast;

My lips are no common, though several they be.”.

Boyet. Belonging to whom?

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

agree: The civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused. Boyet. 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?

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected.

Prin. Your reason?
Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their

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 chrystal 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.

My lips are no common, though scveral they be.] A play on the word sederal, which, besides its ordinary signification of separate, distinct, likewise signifies in uninclosed lands, a certain portion of ground appropriated to either corn or meadow, adjoining the common field.

His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,] Although the expression in the text is extremely odd, I take the sense of it to be that his tongue envied the quickness of his eyes, and strove to be as rapid in its utterance, as they in their perception. STE EVENS.

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 speak'st

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?


What then, do you see?
Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.

You are too hard for me.




SCENE 1. Another part of the same.

Enter ARMADO and Moth.
Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense

of hearing. Moth. Concolinel

[Singing. 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.

? Concolinel -] Here is apparently a song lost : in the old comedies, the songs are frequently omitted.

8- festinately hither;] i, e. hastily.

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