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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 wrong,
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.
Prin. We arrest

your

word.
Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For fuch a fum, from special officers
Of Charles his father.

King. Satisfy me so.

Boyet. So please your Grace, the packet is not come
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 fuch 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 fo deny'd fair harbour in my hoafe :
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewel ;
To-morrow we shall visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires confort your Grace !
King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place.

[Exit. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.

Rof. I pray you, do my commendations ;
I would be glad to see it.
Biron. I would

you

heard it grone *.

heard it

grone. Rof. Is the fool Gick? Biron. Sick at the heart.

Joul.

Dum. Sir, I pray you a word : what lady is that same? Boyet. The heir of Alanson, Rosaline her name. Dun. A gallant lady; Monsieur, fare you well.

[Exit. Long. I beseech you a word : what, is she in white + ? Bojet. She is an heir of Faulconbridge I Long. She is a most sweet lady. Bojet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be l: [Exit. Long.

Pof. Alack, let it blood.
Piron. Would that do it good?
Bol: My phytic fays, Ay
Biron. Will you prick 't with your eye?
Ref. No, poynt, with my

knife.
Biron. Now, God save thy life!
Rof. And your’s from long living!
Biron. I cannot say thanktgiving.

(Exit. Duil. Sir, &c.

he in white?
Boyet. A woman sometimes, if you saw her in the light.
Long. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.
Boyct. 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 bleshing on your beard!
Boytt. Good Sir, be not offended.
She is an, ac

Faulconbridge.
Long. Nay, my choler is ended :
She is, &c.

that
may

be. Biron. What's her name in the cap? Buyet. Catharine, by good hap. jsiron. Is Me wedded, or no? Boyet. To her will, Sir, or so. Liron. You are welcome, Sir : adieu ! Boyet. Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you.' (Exit Biron.

NÍar. 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 dene of you to take him at his word.
Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.
wiar. I wo hot Niceps, marry

Bovet. And wherefore not thips?
No Meep, (sweet larnb), unless we feed on your lips.

Mar. You sheep, and I paiture ; Mall that finish the jest ?

If my observation, (which very feldom lyes),
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected *.
Rof. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skil-

fully. Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of

him. Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her fa

ther is but grim.
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?
Mar. No.
Boyet. What then? do

you

fee?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

Mar. Not so, gentle beast;
My lips are no common, though several they be.

Boyet. Belonging to whom?
Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agrce.
This civil war of wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his book-men ; for here 'tis abus’d.
If my observation, bo.

is infected.
Prin. With what?
Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected.
Prin. Your reason!

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire :
His heart, like an agat 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 halte in his eye-light 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 whence they were glass’d,
Did point out to buy them, along as you pass’d.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes faw his eyes inchanted with gazes :
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An' you give him for my fake but one loving kiss.

Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd

Boyet. But to speak that in words which his eye hath diselos'd ; I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lye. Rof. Thou art, Gr.

Rof. Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet. You are too hard for me.

[Exeunt.

1

A C T III. SCENE I.

The park, near the palace.

Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. 7 Arble, child; make passionate my sense of

hearing. Noth. Concolinel

[Singing Arni. Sweet air ! go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the fwain; bring him feftinately hither : I must employ him in a letter to my love. Moth. Master, will you

win

your love with a French brawl ?

Arm. How mean’ıt thou, brawling in French ?

Moth. No, my compleat Master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; figh a note and fing a note; sometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love; sometimes through the nofc, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love, with your hat penthouse-like, o’er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms cross’d on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbet on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a mnan after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip, and away: these are 'complishments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without these, and make them inen of note (do you note me?) that are most affected to these?

Arm. How hast thou purchas'd this experience ?
Mioth. By my pen of observation.
Arm. But O, but O-
Moth. The hobby-horse is forgot
Arm. Call'st thou my love hobby-horse ?

Moth. No, Maiter; the hobby-horfe is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney : but have you forgot

your love ?

Arm. Almost I had.

* The burthen of an old song.

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.
Moth. And out of heart, Master : all those three I

will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live: and this by, in, and out of, upon the instant : by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more ; and yet nothing at all.

Årm. Fetch hither the swain, he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A message well sympathiz'd; a horse to be embassador for an ass.

Arm. Ha, ha; what say'st thou ?

Moth. Marry, Sir, you muft send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gated : but I go.,

Arm, The way is but short; away.
Moth. As swift as lead, Sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Is not lead of metal heavy, dull, and Now?

Moth. Minimè, honest Master; or rather, Master, no.
Arm. I say, lead is flow.

Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
Is that lead slow, Sir, which is fir'd from a gun ?

Arm. Sweet smoak of rhetoric !
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
I shoot thee at the swain.
Moth. Thump then, and I fly.

[Exit.
Arm. A most acute juvenile, voluble, and free of grace;
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I muft figh in thy face.
Moft rude melancholy, valour gives thee place,
My herald is return'd.

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