Puslapio vaizdai

Their Purpose is to parley, court, and dance,
And every one his Love-feat will advance
Upon his feveral Miftrefs; Which they'll know
By Favours fev'ral, which they did bestow.

Prin. And will they fo? the Gallants fhall be taskt;
For Ladies, we will every one be maskt :
And, not a Man of them fhall have the Grace
Defpight of Sute, to fee a Lady's face.
Hold Rofaline, this Favour thou shalt wear,
And then the King will court thee for his Dear:
Hold, take thou this my Sweet, and give me thine,
So fhall Biron take me for Rofaline.

And change your Favours too, fo fhall your Loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by thefe Removes.

Rofa. Come on then, wear the Favours most in fight.
Kath. But in this changing, What is your Intent?
Prin. The Effect of my Intent is to cross theirs;
They do it but in mocking Merriment,
And Mock for Mock is only my Intent.
Their feveral Counfels they unbosom shall
To Loves miftook, and fo be mockt withal:
Upon the next Occafion that we meet
With Vifages difplay'd to talk and greet.

Rofa. But fhall we dance, if they defire us to't?
Prin. No, to the Death we will not move a foot,
Nor to their pen'd Speech render we no Grace:
But while 'tis fpoke, each turn away her Face.

Boyet. Why that Attempt will kill the Keeper's Heart,
And quite divorce his Memory from his Part.

Prin. Therefore I do it, and I make no doubt,
The reft will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no fuch Sport, as Sport by Sport o'erthrown;
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own;
So fhall we ftay mocking intended Game,
And they well mockt, depart away with Shame. [Sound.
Boy. The Trumpet founds, be maskt, the Maskers come.

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.
Biron. Beauties no richer than rich Taffata.


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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
Biron. True; out indeed.

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
That fome plain Man recount their Purposes
Know what they would?

Boyet. What would you with the Princess?
Biron. Nothing but Peace and gentle Vifitation.
Rofa. Why that they have, and bid them fo be gone.
Boyet. She fays you have it, and you may be gone.
King. Say to her we have meafur'd many Miles,
To tread a Meafure with you on the Graf.

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,
And many Miles; the Princefs bids you tell,
How many Inches doth fill up one Mile?

Biron. Tell her we measure them by weary Steps.
Boyet. She hears her felf.

Rofa. How many weary Steps

Of many weary Miles you have o'er-gone,
Are numbred in the Travel of one Mile?

Biron. We number nothing that we fspend for you, Our Duty is fo rich, fo infinite,


That we may do it ftill without Accompt.'
Vouchsafe to fhew the Sunshine of your Face,
That we (like Savages) may worship it.

Rofa. My Face is but a Moon, and clouded too.
King. Bleffed are Clouds, to do as fuch Clouds do.
Vouchfafe, bright Moon, on these thy Stars to fhine
(Thofe Clouds remov'd) upon our watery Eyne.

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,
We'll not be nice, take Hands, we will not dance.
King. Why take you Hands then!
Rofa. Only to part Friends.

Curtfie fweet Hearts, and fo the Measure ends.
King. More Measure of this Measure; be not nice.
Rofa. We can afford no more at fuch a Price.

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;
Twice to your Visor, and half once to you.

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more Chat.
Rofa. In private then.

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.
Prin. Let it not be sweet.
Biron. Thou griev❜st my Gall.
Prin. Gall, bitter.

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..
Kath. No, I'll not be your Half;

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.
Long. One Word in private with you e'er I die.
Kath. Bleat foftly then, the Butcher hears you cry.
Boyet. The Tongues of mocking Wenches are as keen
As is the Razor's Edge invifible,

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.
King. Farewel, mad Wenches, you have fimple Wits.


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Prin. Twenty Adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Are these the Breed of Wits fo wondred at?

Boyet. Tapers they are, with your fweet Breaths pufc


Rofa. Well-liking Wits they have, grofs, grofs, fat, fat.
Prin. O Poverty in Wit, Kingly poor flout:
Will they not (think you) hang themselves to Night?
Or ever but in Vizards fhew their Faces.
This pert Biron was out of Count'nance quite.

Rofa. O! they were all in lamentable Cafes:
The King was weeping-ripe for a good Word.

Prin. Biron did fwear himself out of all fuit.
Mar. Dumain was at my Service, and his Sword:
No Point (quoth I ;) my Servant ftraight was mute.
Kath. Lord Longavile faid, I came o'er his Heart;
And trow you what he call'd me?
Prin. Qualm, perhaps.

Kath. Yes, in good Faith.

Prin. Go Sickness as thou art.

Rofa. Well, better Wits have worn plain Statute Caps.
But will you hear; the King is my Love fworn.
Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted Faith to me.
Kath. And Longavile was for my Service born.
Mar. Dumain is mine as fure as Bark on Tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty Miftreffes give Ear,
Immediately they will again be here
In their own Shapes; for it can never be,
They will digeft this harth Indignity.
Prin. Will they return?

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows,
And leap for Joy, though they are lame with Blows:
Therefore change Favours, and when they repair,
Blow like fweet Rofes in this Summer Air.

Prin. How blow? how blow? fpeak to be understood.
Boyet. Fair Ladyes maskt, are Rofes in their Bud:
Difmaskt, their damask fweet Comixture fhown,
Are Angels vailing Clouds, or Rofes blown.

Prin. Avaunt Perplexity: What fhall we de,
If they return in their own Shapes to woo?

Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them ftill as well known as difguis'd:


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