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Ros. Come on, then ; wear the favors 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 mocked withal,
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages displayed, 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 penned 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. 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 mocked, depart-away with shame.

[Trumpets sound within. Boyet. The trumpet sounds; be masked; the maskers come.

[The ladies mask.

Enter the King, Biron, LONGAVILLE, and Dumain, in

Russian habits, and masked ; Moth, Musicians, and
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 turned their-backsto mortal views !

Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes.
Moth. That ever turned their eyes to mortal views !


lie. the taffeta masks they wore.

Boyet. True; out, indeed.

Moth. Out of your favors, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold

Biron. Once to behold, rogue.
Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes,

-with your sun-beamed eyes-
Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet;
You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes.
Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings

me out. Biron. Is this your perfectness? Begone, you rogue. 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 ?
Biron. 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 measured many miles, To tread a measure with her on this

grass. Boyet. They say that they have measured many a

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 measured many,
The measure then of one is easily told.

Boyet. If to come hither you have measured miles,
And many miles, the princess bids you tell
How many inches do fill up one mile:

Biron. "Tell her we measure them by weary steps.
Boyet. She hears herself.

How many weary steps,
Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,
Are numbered in the travel of one mile?

? A grave, solemn dance, with slow and measured steps, like the minuet.

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you ; Our duty is so rich, so infinite, That we may do it still without account. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of


face, That we, like savages, may worship it.

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine (Those clouds removed) 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 bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. Ros. Play, music, then; nay, you must do it soon.

[Music plays. 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

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.

Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it.

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 ?

Only to part friends.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 com-
Ros. Your absence only.

That can never be.
Ros. Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu ;
Twice to your vizor, and half once to you!


King. If

you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. Ros. In private then. King

I am best pleased with that.

[They converse apart. Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word

with thee. Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there is three.

Biron. Nay then, two treys, (an if you grow so nice,) Metheglin, wort, and malmsey. Well run,

dice! There's half a dozen sweets. Prin.

Seventh sweet, adieu ! Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.

Biron. One word in secret.

Let it not be sweet.
Biron. Thou griev'st my gall.

Gall ? Bitter. Biron.

Therefore meet.

[They converse apart. Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word ? Mar. Name it. Dum.

Fair lady, Mar.

Say you so ? Fair lord, Take that for your fair lady.

As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

[They converse apart.
Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue ?
Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
Kath. O, for your reason ! quickly, sir; I long.

Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my speechless visor half. 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

half. Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.

Please it you,


I To cog is to lie or cheat; hence, to cog the dice.

Long. Look how you butt yourself in these sharp

mocks! Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so.

Käth. 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 you cry

[They converse apart Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen

Ăs is the razor's edge invisible, Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen; Above the sense of sense.

So sensible Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter

things. Ros. Not one word more, my maids; break off,

break off. Biron. By Heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! King. Farewell

, mad wenches; you have simple wits.

[Exeunt King, Lords, Moth,

Music, and Attendants. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.Are these the breed of wits so wondered at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths

puffed 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 to-night?

Or ever, but in visors, show their faces ? This pert Birón was out of countenance quite.

Ros. O! They were all in lamentable cases ! The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin. Birón did swear himself out of all suit.

Mar. Dumain 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; And trow you what he called me?

1 Well-liking is the same as well-conditioned, fat.

2 No point; a quibble on the French adverb of negation, as before, Act ii. Sc. 1.

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