Biron. I know you did. Rof. How needless was it then to ask the question? Rof. 'Tis long of you that spur me with such questions. Biron. What time a day? Rofa. The hour that fools fhould ask. Biron. Now fair befall your mask. Rofa. Fair fall the face it covers. King. Madam, your father here doth intimate But say that he, or we, as neither have, Although not valu'd to the money's worth: An hundred thousand crowns, and not 'demands Which we much rather had depart withal, a remembers Than Than Aquitain fo gelded as it is. Dear Princess, were not his requests so far From reason's yielding, your fair self should make Prin. You do the King my father too much wrong, Prin. We arreft your word: Boyet, you can produce acquittances King. Satisfie me fo. Boyet. So please your Grace, the packet is not come, King. It fhall fuffice me; at which interview, All liberal reason I will yield unto: As you shall deem your felf lodg'd in my heart, b Tho' fo deny'd fair harbour in my house: Your own good thoughts excufe me, and farewel; Prin. Sweet health and fair defires comfort your Grace. [Exit. Biron. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. I would be glad to fee it. Biron. I would you heard it groan. [Exit. Dum. Sir, I pray you a word: what lady is that fame? [Exit. * [Exit Long. If Boyet. Not unlike Sir, that may be.* heard it groan. Rofa. Is the fool fick? 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 God fave thy life. Rofa. And yours from long living. Biron. I cannot ftay thanksgiving. Dum. Sir, &c. fhe 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 fhame. 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, &c. -Faulconbridge. Long. Nay, my choller is ended: She is,&c. *that may be. Biron. What's her name in the cap? Boyet. Katherine by good hap. Biron. Is the wedded or no? [Exit. Boyet. To her will, Sir, or fo. Biron. You are welcome Sir: adieu. Boyet. Farewel to me Sir, and welcome to you. [Exit Biron. Mar. t foul. If my observation (which very seldom lyes, By the heart's still rhetorick, difclofed with eyes) Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. * Rosa. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakeft skilfully. Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord; Not a word with him but a jest. Boyet. And every jeft but a word. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. And wherefore not ships? No theep (fweet lamb) unless we feed on your lips. Mar. Not fo, 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 agree. This civil war of wits were much better us'd On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd. is infected. Prin. With what? Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected. Boyet. Why all his behaviours did make their retire Methought all his fenfes were lock'd in his eye, Who tendring their own worth from whence they were glaft, His face's own margent did quote fuch amazes, I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his, And you give him for my fake but one loving kiss. Boyet. But to fpeak that in words which his eye hath disclos'd; I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. Rofa. Thou art, &c. Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him. › Rofa. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim. Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches? W ACT III. SCENE I. The PAR K. Enter Armado and Moth. SONG. ARMADO. ARBLE child, make paffionate my sense of hearing. Arm. Sweet air; go tenderness of years; take this key, give inlargement to the fwain; bring him festinately hither: I must imploy him in a letter to my love. Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl? Arm. How mean'st thou, brawling in French? Moth. No my compleat mafter, but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids; figh a note and fing a note, fometimes through the throat: if you swallow'd love with finging, love fometime through the nose, as if you fnuft up love by fmelling 6 love, |