King. Farewel, mad wenches; you have fimple wits. [Exeunt King and Lords. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. Are these the breed of wits so wondred at ? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your fweet breaths puft out. Ref. Well-liking wits they have; grofs, grofs; fat, fat. Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly poor flout! Will they not (think you) hang themfelves to-night? Or ever, but in vizors, fhew their faces ? This pert Biron was out of count'nance quite. Rof. O! they were all in lamentable cafes. The King was weeping-ripe for a good word. Prin. Biron did fwear himfelf out of all fuit. Mar. Dumain was at my fervice, and his fword: No, point, quoth I; my servant ftrait was mute. Cath. Lord Longaville faid, I came o'er his heart; And, trow you, what he call'd me? Prin. Qualm, perhaps. Cath. Yes, in good faith. Prin. Go, fickness as thou art! Rof. Well, better wits have worn plain ftatute-caps. In their own shapes; for it can never be, Boyet. They will, they will, God knows ; Prin. How, blow? how, blow? speak to be underflood. Difmafkt, their damask fweet commixture shewn. VOL. II. L Prin L Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! what shall we do, Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand. [Exeunt. A CTV. SCENE, before the Princess's Pavilion. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their own habits; Boyet, meeting them. F KING. AIR Sir, God fave you! Where's the Princefs? Please it your Majefty, command me any service to her? This gallant pins the wenches on his fleeve; King. A blifter on his fweet tongue with my heart, That put Armado's Page out of his part! Enter the Princefs, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine, Biron. See, where it comes; behaviour, what wert thou, King. Rebuke me not for that, which you provoke ; Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure As the unfully'd lilly, I proteft, A world of torments though I fhould endure, So much I hate a breaking cause to be King. How, Madam? Ruffians? Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord; Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. Ro Madam, fpeak true. It is not fo, my lord: My lady (to the manner of the days) In courtefy gives undeserving praise. We four, indeed, confronted were with four Is of that nature, as to your huge store Wife things feem foolish, and rich things but poor. Rof. But that you take what doth to you belong, Biron, I cannot give you lefs. Rof. Which of the vizors was it, that you wore? Biron. Where? when? what vizor? why demand you this? Rof. There, then, that vizor, that fuperfluous cafe, That hid the worfe, and fhew'd the better face. King. We are defcried; they'll mock us now downright. Dum. Dum. Let us confefs, and turn it to a jeft. Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? why looks your Highness fad? Ro Help, hold his brows, he'll fwoon: why look you pale ? Sea-fick, I think, coming from Muscovy. Biron. Thus pour the ftars down plagues for perjury. Can any face of brafs hold longer out? Here ftand I, lady, dart thy skill at me; Bruise me with fcorn, confound me with a flout; Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue; Nor woo in rhime, like a blind harper's fong; Taffata-phrafes, filken terms precife, Three-pil'd hyperboles, fpruce affectation, Figures pedantical, thefe fummer-flies, Have blown me full of maggot oftentation: I do forfwear them; and I here proteft, By this white glove, (how white the hand, God knows! Henceforth my wooing mind fhall be exprest In ruffet yeas, and honest kerfy noes: And to begin, wench, (fo God help me, law!) My love to thee is found, fans crack or flaw. Rof. Sans, fans, I pray you. Biron. Yet I have a trick Of the old rage: bear with me, I am fick. I'll leave it by degrees: foft, let us fee; Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three; They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes : For the lord's tokens on you both I fee. Prin. No, they are free, that gave thefe tokens to us. Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us. |