Where now his Knowledge muft prove Ignorance,
I hear your Grace hath fworn out Houfe-keeping:
'Tis deadly Sin to keep that Oath my Lord:
And Sin to break it.

But pardon me, I am too fudden bold,
To teach a Teacher ill befeemeth me;
Vouchsafe to read the purpofe of my coming,
And fuddenly refolve me in my Suit.

King. Madam, I will, if fuddenly I may.
Prin. You will the fooner that I were away,
For you'll prove perjur'd if you make me ftay.
Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
Rofa. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
Biron. I know you did.

Rofa. How needlefs was it then to ask the Question?
Biron. You must not be fo quick.

Rofa. 'Tis long of you that fpur me with fuch Questions.
Biron. Your Wit's too hot, it fpeeds too fast, 'twill tire.
Rofa. Not 'till it leave the Rider in the Mire.

Biron. What Time a Day?

Rofa. The Hour that Fools fhould ask.
Biron. Naw Fair befall your Mask.
Rofa. Fair falls the Face it covers.
Biron. And fend you many Lovers.
Rofa. Amen, fo you be none.
Biron. Nay then will I be gone.
King. Madam, your Father here doth intimate
The Payment of one hundred thousand Crowns;
Being but th' one half of an intire Sum,
Disburfed by my Father in his Wars.
But fay that he, or we, as neither have,
Receiv'd that Sum; yet there remains unpaid
A hundred thousand more; in Surety of the which,
One part of Aquitain is bound to us,
Although not valu'd to the Mony's worth.
If then the King your Father will reftore
But that one Half which is unfatisfy'd,
We will give up our Right in Aquitain,
And hold fair Friendship with his Majefty:
But that it feems he little purpofeth,
For here he doth demand to have repaid

An

An hundred thoufand Crowns, and not remembers
One Payment of an hundred thousand Crowns,
To have his Title live in Aquitain
Which we much rather had depart withal,
And have the Mony by our Father lent,
Than Aquitain fo gulded as it is.
Dear Princefs, were not his Requests fo far
From Reafon's yielding, your fair felf fhould make
A yielding 'gainft fome Reafon in my Breaft,
And go well fatisfied to France again.

Prin. You do the King my Father too much Wrong,
And wrong the Reputation of your Name,
In fo unfeeming to confefs Receipt
Of that which hath fo faithfully been paid.
King. I do proteft I never heard of it;
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.

Prin. We arreft your
Word:
Boyet, you can produce Acquittances
For fuch a Sum, from fpecial Officers
Of Charles his Father.

King. Satisfie me fo.

Boyet. So pleafe your Grace, the Packet is not come,
Where that and other Specialties are bound :
To Morrow you fhall have a Sight of them.

King. It fhall fuffice me; at which Interview,
All liberal Reafon would I 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 Princefs, in my Gates,
But here without you fhall be fo receiv'd,
As you fhall deem your felf lodg'd in my Heart,
Tho' fo deny'd farther Harbour in my Houfe:
Your own good Thoughts excufe me, and farewel;
To Morrow we fhall vifit you again.

Prin. Sweet Health and fair Defires comfort your Grace.
King. Thy own Wifh, wifh I thee, in every Place. [Exit.
Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own Heart.
Rofa. Pray you do my
Commendations;
I would be glad to fee it.

Dd 4

Biron.

Biron. I would you heard it groan.
Rofa. Is the Soul fick?
Biron. Sick at the Heart.
Rofa. Alack, let it Blood,
Biron. Would that do it good?
Rofa. My Phyfick fays ay.
Biron. Will you prick't with your Eye.
Rofa. No poynt, with my Knife.
Biron. Now fave my Life.
Rofa. And yours from long living.
Beron. I cannot ftay Thanksgiving.
Enter Dumain.

[Exit.

Dum. Sir, I pray you a Word; What Lady is that fame?
Boyet. The Heir of Alanson, Rofaline her Name.
Dum. A gallant Lady; Monfieur fare you well. [Exit.
Enter Longavile.

Long. I befeech you a word: What is the in white? Boyet. A Woman fometimes, if you faw her in the Light, Long. Perchance Light in the Light: I defire her Name. Boyet. She hath but one for her felf; To defire that were a Shame.

Long. Pray you Sir, whofe Daughter?
Boyet. Her Mother's, I have heard.
Long. God's Bleffing on your Beard.
Boyet. Good Sir be not offended.
She is an Heir of Faulconbridge.

Long. Nay, my Choller is ended:
She is a moft fweet Lady.

Boyet. Not unlike Sir, that may be.
Enter Biron.

Biron. What's her Name in the Cap?
Boyet. Katherine by good hap.
Biron. Is the wedded or no?
Boyet. To her Will, Sir, or fo.

Biron. You are welcome Sir: Adieu,

[Exit Long.

Boyet. Farewel to me Sir, and welcome to you. [Ex. Biron, Mar. That laft is Biron, the merry Mad-cap Lord;

Not a Word with him but a Jeft.

Boyet. And every Jeft but a Word.

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.

Mar.

Mar. Two hot Sheeps, marry;

And wherefore not Ships?

(Lips.

Boyet. No Sheep (fweet Lamb) unlefs we feed on your
Mar. You Sheep and I Pafture; fhall that finish the Jest?
Boyet. So you grant Pafture for me.

Mar. Not fo, gentle Beaft;

My Lips are no Common, though feveral they be.
Boyet. Belonging to whom?

Mar. To my Fortunes and me.

Prin, Good Wits will be jangling; but Gentles agree.
This Civil War of Wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his Book-Men; for here 'tis abus'd.

Boyet. If my Obfervation (which very feldome lyes, By the Heart's ftill Rhetorick, difclofed with Eyes) Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we Lovers intitle affected.
Prin. Your Reason?

Boyet. Why all his Behaviours do make their Retire To the Court of his Eye, peeping thorough Defire: His Heart like an Agot with your Print impreffed; Proud with his Form, in his Eye-Pride expreffed: His Tongue all impatient to speak and not fee, Did ftumble with hafte in his Eye-fight to be: All Senfes to that Senfe did make their Repair, To feel only looking on Faireft of fair: Methought all his Senfes were lock'd in his Eye, As Jewels in Chryftal for fome Prince to buy: Who tendring their own Worth from whence they were Did point out to buy them along as you paft. His Faces own Margent did coat fuch Amazes, That all Eyes faw his Eyes inchanted with Gazes: I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his, And you give him for my fake but one loving Kiss.

(glaft,

Prin. Come to our Pavillion, Boyet is difpos'd.

(difclos'd;

Boyet. But to fpeak that in Words which his Eye hath I only have made a Mouth of his Eye, By adding a Tongue which I know will rot lie. Rofa. Thou art an old Love-monger, and fpeake ft skilfully.

Mar. He is Cupid's Grandfather, and learns News of

him.

Rofa.

Rofa. Then was Venus like her Mother, for her Father is

but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad Wenches?

Mar. No.

Boyet. What then, do you fee?
Rofa. Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet. You are too hard for me.

[Exeunt omnes.

A C T III. SCENE I.

Enter Armado and Moth.

SONG.

Arm. W Arble Child, make paffionate my Sense of hear

ing.

Moth. Concolinel.-

Arm. Sweet Air; go Tenderness of Years; take this Key, give Inlargement to the Swain; bring him feftinately hither: I muft imploy him in a Letter to my Love.

Moth. Will you win your Love with a French Braul?
Arm. How mean'ft thou, brauling in French?

Moth. No my compleat Mafter, but to Jig off a Tune at the Tongue's End, canary to it with the Feet, humour it with turning up your Eye; figh a Note and fing a Note, fomething through the Throat If you fwallow'd Love with Singing, love fometime through the Nofe, as if you fouft up Love by fmelling Love, with your Hat Penthouse-like o'er the Shop of your Eyes, with your Arms croft on your thinbelly Doublet, (like a Rabbet on a Spit) or your Hands in your Pocket, like a Man after the old Painting, and keep not too long in one Tune, but a Snip and away: These are Complements, thefe are Humours, thefe betray nice Wenches that would be betray'd without thefe, and make them Men of Note: Do you note Men that most are affected to thefe ?

Arm. How haft thou purchas'd this Experience?
Moth. By my Pen of Obfervation.

Arm. But O, but O.

Moth. The Hobby-horfe is forgot.
Arm. Call'ft thou my Love Hobby-horfe.

Moth.