The numbers true; and, were the numb'ring too, Ros. Much, in the letters; nothing in the praise. Ros. 'Ware pencils! How? let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter: O, that your face were not so full of O's! Kath. A pox of that jest! and beshrew all shrows! Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Du.' main? Kath. Madam, this glove. Prin. Did he not send you twain? Kath. Yes, madam; and moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover: A huge translation of hypocrisy. Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville; The letter is too long by half a mile. Prin. I think no less: Dost thou not wish in heart, The chain were longer, and the letter short? Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. Prin. We are wise girls, to 'mock our lovers so. Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. That same Birón I'll torture ere I go. O, that I knew he were but in by the week! Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd, As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd, Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such ex cess, As gravity's revolt to wantonness. Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, 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? Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare Arm, wenches, arm; encounters mounted are Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say. And ever and anon they made a doubt, I should have fear'd her, had she been a devil. With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder; Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. Cry'd, Via! we will do't, come what will come: 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 apparel'd thus,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 task'd: For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd; And not a man of them shall have the grace, Hold, Rosaliue, this favour thou shalt wear; And change you favours too; so shall your loves Ros. Come on then; wear the favours most in sight. They do it but in mocking merriment; And mock for mock is only my intent. 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. 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 mask. [The ladies mask ers come. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in Russian habits, and musked; Moth, musicians and attendants. Moth. All hail! the richest beauties on the earth! [The ladies turn their backs to him. That ever turn'd their-backs-to mortal views! Biron. 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 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? be gone, you rogue. Ros. What would these strangers? know their If they do speak our language, 'tis our will Boyet. What would you with the princess? Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 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 you 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. Boyct. 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. Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. Boyet. She hears herself. Ros. How many weary steps, Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, Are number'd in the travel of one mile? Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you; Our duty is so rich, so infinite, That we may do it still without accompt. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, That we, like savages, may worship it. |