Puslapio vaizdai
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Let us complain to them what Fools were here,
Difguis'd like Muscovites in fhapeless Gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their fhallow Shows, and Prologue vildly pen'd,
And their rough Carriage fo ridiculous,
Should be prefented at our Tent to us.

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at Hand. Frin. Whip to our Tents, as Roes run o'er the Land. [Exeunt. Enter the King, Biron, Longavile and Dumain, in their own Habits.

King. Fair Sir, God fave you. Where's the Princess?
Boyet. Gone to her Tent.

Please it your Majefty command me any Service to her?
King. That the vouchfafe me Audience for one Word.
Boyet. I will, and fo will fhe, I know, my Lord. [Exit.
Biron. This Fellow picks up Wit as Pigeon Peas,
And utters it again, when Jove doth please:
He is Wit's Pedlar, and retails his Wares
At Wakes and Waffals, Meetings, Markets, Fairs:
And we that fell by Grofs, the Lord doth know,
Have not the Grace to grace it with fuch Show.
This Gallant pins the Wenches on his Sleeve;
Had he been Adam he had tempted Eve.
He can carve too,, and lifp: Why this is he,
That kift away his Hand in Courtefie.
This is the Ape of Fortune, Monfieur the nice,
That when he plays at Tables, chides the Dice
In honourable Terms: Nay he can fing
A Mean moft manly, and in ufhering
Mend him who can; the Ladies call him fweet;
The Stairs as he treads on them kifs his Feet.
This is the Flower that fmiles on every one,

To fhew his Teeth as white as Whale his Bone.
And Confciences that will not die in Debt,
Pay him the Duty of Honey-tongu'd Boyet.

King. A Blifter on his fweet Torgue with my Heart, That put Armado's Page out of his Part.

Enter

Enter the Princess, Rofaline, Maria, Katherine, and

Attendants.

Biron. See where it comes, Behaviour what wert thou, 'Till this mad-man fhew'd thee? And what art thou now? King. All hail, fweet Madam, and fair time of Day. Prin. Fair in all Hail is foul, as I conceive. King. Conftrue my Speeches better if you may. Prin. Then with me better, I will give you leave. King. We came to vifit you, and purpose now To lead you to our Court, vouchfafe it then. Prin. This Field fhall hold me, and fo hold Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd Men.

your

Vow:

King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ; The Vertue of your Eye muft break my Oath.

Prin. You nick-name Virtue: Vice you should have fpake:

For Virtue's Office never breaks Mens Troth.

Now, by my Maiden Honour, yet as pure
As the unfully'd Lilly, I proteft,

A World of Torments though I fhould endure,
I would not yield to be your House's Gueft:
So much I hate a breaking Cause to be
Of heav'nly Oaths, vow'd with Integrity.
King. O you have liv'd in Defolation here,
Unfeen, unvifited, much to our Shame.

Prin. Not fo my Lord, it is not so I swear,
We have had Paftimes here, and pleasant Game.
A Mefs of Ruffians left us but of late.
King. How, Madam? Ruffians?

Prin. Ay in truth, my Lord;

Trim Gallants, full of Courtship, and of State.
Rofa. Madam, fpeak true. It is not fo, my Lord :
My Lady (to the manner of the Days)
In Courtefie gives undeferving Praise.
We four indeed confronted were with four,
In Ruffian Habit: Here they ftay'd an Hour,
And talk'd apace, and in that hour, my Lord,
They did not blefs us with one happy Word.
I dare not call them Fools; but this I think,
When they are thirfty, Fools would fain have Drink.

Biron.

Biron. This Jeft is dry to me. Fair, gentle, fweet,
Your Wit makes wife Things foolish; when we greet,
With Eyes beft feeing, Heaven's fiery Eye,

By Light we lofe Light; your Capacity
Is of that Nature, as to your huge Store,
Wife things feem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Rofa. This proves you wife and rich; for in my Eye---
Biron. I am a Fool, and full of Poverty.

Rofa. But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to fnatch Words from my Tongue.
Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I poffefs.
Rofa. All the Fool mine.

Biron. I cannot give you lefs.

Rofa. Which of the Vizards was it that you wore ?
Biron. Where? When? What Vizard?

Why demand you this?

Rofa. There, then, that Vizard, that fupe fluous Cafe, That hid the worfe, and fhew'd the better Face.

King. We are defcried,

They'il mock us now downright.

Dum. Let us confefs, and turn it to a Jeft.

Prin. Amaz'd, my Lord? Why looks your Highness fad? Rofa. Help, hold his Brows, he'll fwound: Why look you pale ?

Sea-fick I think, coming from Muscovy.

Biron. Thus pour the Stars down Plagues for Perjury. Can any Face of Brafs hold longer out?

Here ftand I, Lady, dart thy Skill at me,
Bruife me with Scorn, confound me with a Flout,
Thruft thy fharp Wit quite through my Ignorance;
Cut me to pieces with thy keen Conceit;
And I will with thee never more to dance,
Nor rever more in Ruffian Habit wait.
O! never will I truft to Speeches pen'd,
Nor to the Motion of a School-boy's Tongue,
Nor never come in Vizards to my Friend,
Nor woo in time like a blind Harper's Song;
Taffata Phrafes, filken Terms precife,
Three-pil'd Hyperboles, fpruce Affectation,
Figures pedantical, thefe Summer Flies,
Have blown me full of Maggot Oftentation.

I

I do forfwear them, and I here protest,

By this white Glove (how white the Hand God knows)
Henceforth my wooing Mind fhall be expreft

In ruffet Yeas, and honeft kerfie Noes:

And to begin, Wench, fo God help me Law,
My Love to thee is found, Sans crack or flaw.
Rofa. Sans, Sans, I pray you.

Biron. Yet I have a Trick

Of the old Rage: Bear with me, I am Sick.
I'll leave it by Degrees: Soft, let us fee,
Write Lord have mercy on us, and those three,
They are infected, in their Hearts it lyes,
They have the Plague, and caught it of your Eyes:
Thele Lords are vifited, you are not free;
For the Lords Tokens on you both I fee.

Prin. No, they are free that gave thefe Tokens to us.
Biron. Our States are forfeit, feek not to undo us.
Rofa. It is not fo; for how can this be true,
That you ftand forfeit, being those that fue.
Biron. Peace, for I will not have to do with you.
Rofa. Nor fhall not, if I do as I intend.

Biron. Speak for your felvés, my Wit is at an end.
King. Teach us, Iweet Madam, for our rude Tranfgreffion,
Some fair Excufe.

Prin. The faireft is Confeffion.

Were you not here but even now difguis'd?

King. Madam, I was:

Prin. And were you well advis'd?

King. I was, fair Madam.

Prin. When you then were here,

What did you whisper in your Lady's Ear?

King. That more than all the World I did refpect her.
Prin. When the fhall challenge this, you will reject her.

King. Upon my Honour no.

Prin. Peace, peace, forbear:

Your Oath once broke, you force not to forfwear.
King. Defpife me when I break this Oath of mine.
Prin. I will, and therefore keep it. Rofaline,
What did the Ruffian whisper in your Ear?

Rofa. Madam, he fwore that he did hold me dear
VOL. I.

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As precious Eye-fight, and did value me
Above this World; adding thereto moreover,
That he would wed me, or elfe die my Lover.
Prin. God give thee Joy of him; the noble Lord
Moft honourably doth uphold his Word.
King. What mean you, Madam?

By my Life, my Troth,

I never fwore this Lady fuch an Oath."

Rofa. By Heav'n you did, and to confirm it plain, You gave me this: But take it, Sir, again.

King. My Faith and this, to th Princess I did give, I knew her by this Jewel on her Sleeve.

Prin. Pardon me, Sir, this Jewel did she wear:
And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my Dear.
What? will you have me, or your Pearl again?
Biron. Neither of either, I remit both twain.
I fee the Trick on't; Here was a Confent,
Knowing aforehand of our Merriment,
To dash it like a Christmas Comedy.

Some Carry-tale, fome Please-man, fome flight Zany,
Some Mumble-news, fome Trencher-knight, fome Dick
That fmiles his Cheek in Years, and knows the Trick
To make my Lady laugh, when he's difpos'd,
Told our Intents before; which once disclos'd,
The Ladies did change Favours, and then we
Following the Signs, woo'd but the Sign of fhe:
Now to our Perjury, to add more Terror,
We are again forfworn in Will and Error.
Much upon this it is. And might not you
Foreftal our Sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my Lady's Foot byth' Square,
And laugh upon the Apple of her Eye,
And ftand between her Back, Sir, and the Fire,
Holding a Trencher, jefting merrily?

You put our Page out: Go, you are allow'd,
Die when you will, a Smock fhall be your Shrowd.
You leer upon me, do you? There's an Eye
Wounds like a Leaden Sword.

[To Boyet

Boyet. Full merrily hath this brave Manager, this Career

been run.

Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight. Peace, I have done.

Enter

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