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Their Purpose is to parley, court, and dance,
Prin. And will they fo? the Gallants fhall be taskt;
And change your Favours too, fo fhall your Loves
Rofa. Come on then, wear the Favours most in fight.
Rofa. But fhall we dance, if they defire us to't?
Boyet. Why that Attempt will kill the Keeper's Heart,
Prin. Therefore I do it, and I make no doubt,
Enter the King, Biron, Longavile, Dumain, and Attendants, difguiz'd like Mufcovites. Moth with Mufick, as for a Masquerade.
Moth. All hail the richest Beauties on the Earth.
Moth. A holy Parcel of the fairest Dames that ever turn'd their Backs to mortal Views. [The Ladies turn their Backs to him.
Biron. Their Eyes, Villain, their Eyes.
Moth. That ever turn'd their Eyes to mortal Views. Out
Moth. Out of your Favours heav'nly Spirit, vouchsafe not to behold.
Biron. Once to behold, Rogue.
Moth. Once to behold with your Sun-beamed Eyes With your Sun-beamed Eyes
Biron. They will not anfwer to that Epithete; You were beft call it Daughter-beam'd Eyes.
Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. Biron. Is this your Perfe&nefs? Begone, you Rogue. Rofa. What would thefe Strangers?
Know their Minds, Boyet.
If they do fpeak our Language, 'tis our Will
Boyet. What would you with the Princess?
Boyet. They fay that they have measur'd many a Mile, To tread a Meafure with you on the Grass.
Rofa. It is not fo. Ask them how many Inches Is in one Mile? If they have meafur'd many The Measure then of one is eafily told.
Boyet. If to come hither you have meafur❜d Miles,
Biron. Tell her we measure them by weary Steps.
Rofa. How many weary Steps
Of many weary Miles you have o'er-gone,
Biron. We number nothing that we fspend for you, Our Duty is fo rich, fo infinite,
That we may do it ftill without Accompt.'
Rofa. My Face is but a Moon, and clouded too.
Rofa. O vain Petitioner, beg a greater Matter; Thou now requefts but Moon-fhine in the Water. King. Then in our measure, vouchfafe but one Change; Thou bid'ft me beg, this Begging is not ftrange.
Rofa. Play Mufick then; nay you must do it fɔon. Not yet no Dance; thus change I like the Moon.
King. Will you not dance, how come you thus eftrang'd? Rofa. You took the Moon at Full, but now he's chang'd. King. Yet ftill fhe is the Moon, and I the Man.
Rofa. The Mufick plays, vouchsafe fome Motion to it: Our Ears vouchfafe it,
King. But your Legs fhall do it.
Rofa. Since you are Strangers, and come here by chance,
Curtfie fweet Hearts, and fo the Measure ends.
King. Price your felves then; what buys your Company?
Rofa. Your Abfence only.
King. That can never be.
Rofa. Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu;
King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more Chat.
King. I am beft pleas'd with that.
Biron. White-handed Miftrefs, one fweet Word with thee.
Prin. Honey, and Milk, and Sugar; there is three. Biron. Nay then two Treys; and if you grow fo nice, Methegline, Wort, and Malmsey; well run Dice: There's half a dozen Sweets.
Prin. Seventh Sweet adieu, fince you can cog
I'll play no more with you.
Biron. One Word in fecret.
Biron. Therefore meet.
Dum. Will you vouchfafe with me to change a Word? Mar. Name it.
Dam. Fair Lady,
Mar. Say you fo? Fair Lord: Take you that for your fair Lady.
Dum. Please it you;
As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.
Kath. What, was your Vizard made without a Tongue? Long. I know the Reafon, 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 fpeechlefs Vizard half.
Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutch Man; is not Veal a Calf? Long. A Calf, fair Lady
Kath. No, a fair Lord Calf.
Long. Let's part-the Word..
Take all and wean it; it may prove an Ox.
Long. Look how you But to your felf in these sharp Mocks! Will you give Horns, chafte Lady? Do not fo.
Kath. Then die a Calf before your Horns do grow.
Cutting a smaller Hair than may be feer,
Above the Senfe of Senfe fo fenfible,
Seemeth their Conference, their Conceits have Wings, Fleeter than Arrows, Bullets, Wind, Thought, fwifter Things. Rofa. Not one Word more my Maids, break off, break
Biron. By Heav'n all dry beaten with pure Scoff.
Prin. Twenty Adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Boyet. Tapers they are, with your fweet Breaths pufc
Rofa. Well-liking Wits they have, grofs, grofs, fat, fat.
Rofa. O! they were all in lamentable Cafes:
Prin. Biron did fwear himself out of all fuit.
Kath. Yes, in good Faith.
Prin. Go Sickness as thou art.
Rofa. Well, better Wits have worn plain Statute Caps.
Boyet. They will, they will, God knows,
Prin. How blow? how blow? fpeak to be understood.
Prin. Avaunt Perplexity: What fhall we de,
Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,