ING. Why take we hands then? ROSALINE. Only to part friends. Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. KING. More measure of this measure; be not nice. ROSALINE. We can afford no more at such a price. KING. Price you yourselves. What buys your company? ROSALINE. Your absence only. KING. That can never be. ROSALINE. 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. ROSALINE. In private then. KING. I am best pleas'd with that. [They converse apart] BEROWNE. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three. BEROWNE. Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice, Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; well run dice! There's half a dozen sweets. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Seventh sweet, adieu! Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. BEROWNE. One word in secret. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Let it not be sweet. BEROWNE. Thou grievest my gall. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Gall! bitter. BEROWNE. Therefore meet. [They converse apart] DUMAIN. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? MARIA. Name it. DUMAIN. Fair lady- MARIA. Say you so? Fair lord- Take that for your fair lady. DUMAIN. Please it you, As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. [They converse apart] KATHARINE. What, was your vizard made without a tongue? LONGAVILLE. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. KATHARINE. O for your reason! Quickly, sir; I long. LONGAVILLE. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my speechless vizard half. KATHARINE. 'Veal' quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf? LONGAVILLE. A calf, fair lady! KATHARINE. No, a fair lord calf. LONGAVILLE. Let's part the word. KATHARINE. No, I'll not be your half. Take all and wean it; it may prove an ox. LONGAVILLE. Look how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so. KATHARINE. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. LONGAVILLE. One word in private with you ere I die. KATHARINE. Bleat softly, then; the butcher hears you cry. [They converse apart] BOYET. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor's edge invisible, Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen, Above the sense of sense; so sensible Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things. ROSALINE. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off. BEROWNE. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! KING. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits. Exeunt KING, LORDS, and BLACKAMOORS PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits. Are these the breed of wits so wondered at? BOYET. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out. ROSALINE. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night? Or ever but in vizards show their faces? This pert Berowne was out of count'nance quite. ROSALINE. They were all in lamentable cases! The King was weeping-ripe for a good word. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Berowne did swear himself out of all suit. MARIA. Dumain was at my service, and his sword. 'No point' quoth I; my servant straight was mute. KATHARINE. Lord Longaville said I came o'er his heart; And trow you what he call'd me? PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Qualm, perhaps. KATHARINE. Yes, in good faith. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Go, sickness as thou art! ROSALINE. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. But will you hear? The King is my love sworn. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me. KATHARINE. And Longaville was for my service born. MARIA. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. BOYET. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: Immediately they will again be here In their own shapes; for it can never be They will digest this harsh indignity. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 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 sweet roses in this summer air. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. How blow? how blow? Speak to be understood. BOYET. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their bud: Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do If they return in their own shapes to woo? ROSALINE. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, Let's mock them still, as well known as disguis'd. Let us complain to them what fools were here, Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; And wonder what they were, and to what end Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn'd, And their rough carriage so ridiculous, Should be presented at our tent to us. BOYET. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er land. Exeunt PRINCESS, ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA Re-enter the KING, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in their proper habits KING. Fair sir, God save you! Where's the Princess? BOYET. Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty Command me any service to her thither? KING. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. BOYET. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. Exit BEROWNE. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease, And utters it again when God doth please. He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, Have not the grace to grace it with such show. This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. 'A can carve too, and lisp; why this is he That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy; This is the ape of form, Monsieur the Nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms; nay, he can sing A mean most meanly; and in ushering, Mend him who can. The ladies call him sweet; The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet. This is the flow'r that smiles on every one, To show his teeth as white as whales-bone; And consciences that will not die in debt Pay him the due of 'honey-tongued Boyet.' KING. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, That put Armado's page out of his part! Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; ROSALINE, MARIA, and KATHARINE BEROWNE. See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou Till this man show'd thee? And what art thou now? KING. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day! PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'Fair' in 'all hail' is foul, as I conceive. KING. Construe my speeches better, if you may. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Then wish me better; I will give you leave. KING. We came to visit you, and purpose now To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow: Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur'd men. KING. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke. The virtue of your eye must break my oath. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You nickname virtue: vice you should have spoke; For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure As the unsullied lily, I protest, A world of torments though I should endure, I would not yield to be your house's guest; So much I hate a breaking cause to be Of heavenly oaths, vowed with integrity. KING. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear; We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game; A mess of Russians left us but of late. KING. How, madam! Russians! PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Ay, in truth, my lord; Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state. ROSALINE. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord. My lady, to the manner of the days, In courtesy gives undeserving praise. We four indeed confronted were with four In Russian habit; here they stayed an hour And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, They did not bless us with one happy word. I dare not call them fools; but this I think, When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. BEROWNE. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet, Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet, With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, By light we lose light; your capacity Is of that nature that to your huge store Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor. ROSALINE. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye- BEROWNE. I am a fool, and full of poverty. ROSALINE. But that you take what doth to you belong, It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. BEROWNE. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. ROSALINE. All the fool mine? BEROWNE. I cannot give you less. ROSALINE. Which of the vizards was it that you wore? BEROWNE. Where? when? what vizard? Why demand you this? ROSALINE. There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case That hid the worse and show'd the better face. KING. We were descried; they'll mock us now downright. DUMAIN. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your Highness sad? ROSALINE. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale? Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. BEROWNE. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. Can any face of brass hold longer out? Here stand I, lady- dart thy skill at me, Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout, Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance, Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; And I will wish thee never more to dance, Nor never more in Russian habit wait. O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd, Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue, Nor never come in vizard to my friend, Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song. Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical- these summer-flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation. I do forswear them; and I here protest, By this white glove- how white the hand, God knows!- Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes. And, to begin, wench- so God help me, law!- My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. ROSALINE. Sans 'sans,' I pray you. BEROWNE. Yet I have a trick Of the old rage; bear with me, I am sick; I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see- Write 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three; They are infected; in their hearts it lies; They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes. These lords are visited; you are not free, For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us. BEROWNE. Our states are forfeit; seek not to undo us. ROSALINE. It is not so; for how can this be true, That you stand forfeit, being those that sue? BEROWNE. Peace; for I will not have to do with you. ROSALINE. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. BEROWNE. Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end. KING. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression Some fair excuse. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The fairest is confession. Were not you here but even now, disguis'd? KING. Madam, I was. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And were you well advis'd? KING. I was, fair madam. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When you then were here, What did you whisper in your lady's ear? KING. That more than all the world I did respect her. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When she shall challenge this, you will reject her. KING. Upon mine honour, no. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Peace, peace, forbear; Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. KING. Despise me when I break this oath of mine. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline, What did the Russian whisper in your ear? ROSALINE. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear As precious eyesight, and did value me Above this world; adding thereto, moreover, That he would wed me, or else die my lover. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God give thee joy of him! The noble lord Most honourably doth uphold his word. KING. What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth, I never swore this lady such an oath. ROSALINE. By heaven, you did; and, to confirm it plain, You gave me this; but take it, sir, again. KING. My faith and this the Princess I did give; I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear. What, will you have me, or your pearl again? BEROWNE. Neither of either; I remit both twain. I see the trick on't: here was a consent, Knowing aforehand of our merriment, To dash it like a Christmas comedy. Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany, Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick, That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick To make my lady laugh when she's dispos'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 she. Now, to our perjury to add more terror, We are again forsworn in will and error. Much upon this it is; [To BOYET] and might not you Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue? Do not you know my lady's foot by th' squier, And laugh upon the apple of her eye? And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? You put our page out. Go, you are allow'd; Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. You leer upon me, do you? There's an eye Wounds like a leaden sword. BOYET. Full merrily Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. BEROWNE. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have done. Enter COSTARD Welcome, pure wit! Thou part'st a fair fray. COSTARD. O Lord, sir, they would know Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no? BEROWNE. What, are there but three? COSTARD. No, sir; but it is vara fine, For every one pursents three. BEROWNE. And three times thrice is nine. COSTARD. Not so, sir; under correction, sir, I hope it is not so. You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we know; I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir- BEROWNE. Is not nine. COSTARD. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount. BEROWNE. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. COSTARD. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reck'ning, sir. BEROWNE. How much is it? COSTARD. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount. For mine own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, sir. BEROWNE. Art thou one of the Worthies? COSTARD. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great; for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am to stand for him. BEROWNE. Go, bid them prepare. COSTARD. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care. Exit COSTARD KING. Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach. BEROWNE. We are shame-proof, my lord, and 'tis some policy To have one show worse than the King's and his company. KING. I say they shall not come. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now. That sport best pleases that doth least know how; Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Dies in the zeal of that which it presents. Their form confounded makes most form in mirth, When great things labouring perish in their birth. BEROWNE. A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter ARMADO ARMADO. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words. [Converses apart with the KING, and delivers a paper] PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Doth this man serve God? BEROWNE. Why ask you? PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'A speaks not like a man of God his making. ARMADO. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too too vain, too too vain; but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement! Exit ARMADO KING. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate, Alexander; Arinado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Maccabaeus. And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive, These four will change habits and present the other five. BEROWNE. There is five in the first show. KING. You are deceived, 'tis not so. BEROWNE. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy: Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein. KING. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. Enter COSTARD, armed for POMPEY COSTARD. I Pompey am- BEROWNE. You lie, you are not he. COSTARD. I Pompey am- BOYET. With libbard's head on knee. BEROWNE. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee. COSTARD. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the Big- DUMAIN. The Great. COSTARD. It is Great, sir. Pompey surnam'd the Great, That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat; And travelling along this coast, I bere am come by chance, And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France. If your ladyship would say 'Thanks, Pompey,' I had done. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Great thanks, great Pompey. COSTARD. 'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect. I made a little fault in Great. BEROWNE. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy. Enter SIR NATHANIEL, for ALEXANDER NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander; By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might. My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander- BOYET. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands to right. BEROWNE. Your nose smells 'no' in this, most tender-smelling knight. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good Alexander. NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander- BOYET. Most true, 'tis right, you were so, Alisander. BEROWNE. Pompey the Great! COSTARD. Your servant, and Costard. BEROWNE. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander. COSTARD. [To Sir Nathaniel] O, Sir, you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scrap'd out of the painted cloth for this. Your lion, that holds his poleaxe sitting on a close-stool, will be given to Ajax. He will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander. [Sir Nathaniel retires] There, an't shall please you, a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd. He is a marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler; but for Alisander- alas! you see how 'tis- a little o'erparted. But there are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter HOLOFERNES, for JUDAS; and MOTH, for HERCULES HOLOFERNES. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus; And when be was a babe, a child, a shrimp, Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus. Quoniam he seemeth in minority, Ergo I come with this apology. Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [MOTH retires] Judas I am- DUMAIN. A Judas! HOLOFERNES. Not Iscariot, sir. Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus. DUMAIN. Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas. BEROWNE. A kissing traitor. How art thou prov'd Judas? HOLOFERNES. Judas I am- DUMAIN. The more shame for you, Judas! HOLOFERNES. What mean you, sir? BOYET. To make Judas hang himself. HOLOFERNES. Begin, sir; you are my elder. BEROWNE. Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder. HOLOFERNES. I will not be put out of countenance. BEROWNE. Because thou hast no face. HOLOFERNES. What is this? BOYET. A cittern-head. DUMAIN. The head of a bodkin. BEROWNE. A death's face in a ring. LONGAVILLE. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. BOYET. The pommel of Coesar's falchion. DUMAIN. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. BEROWNE. Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch. DUMAIN. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. BEROWNE. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now, forward; for we have put thee in countenance. HOLOFERNES. You have put me out of countenance. BEROWNE. False: we have given thee faces. HOLOFERNES. But you have outfac'd them all. BEROWNE. An thou wert a lion we would do so. BOYET. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. And so adieu, sweet Jude! Nay, why dost thou stay? DUMAIN. For the latter end of his name. BEROWNE. For the ass to the Jude; give it him- Jud-as, away. HOLOFERNES. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. BOYET. A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble. [HOLOFERNES retires] PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited! Enter ARMADO, for HECTOR BEROWNE. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms. DUMAIN. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry. KING. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this. BOYET. But is this Hector? DUMAIN. I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd. LONGAVILLE. His leg is too big for Hector's. DUMAIN. More calf, certain. BOYET. No; he is best indued in the small. BEROWNE. This cannot be Hector. DUMAIN. He's a god or a painter, for he makes faces. ARMADO. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift- DUMAIN. A gilt nutmeg. BEROWNE. A lemon. LONGAVILLE. Stuck with cloves. DUMAIN. No, cloven. ARMADO. Peace! The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion; A man so breathed that certain he would fight ye, From morn till night out of his pavilion. I am that flower- DUMAIN. That mint. LONGAVILLE. That columbine. ARMADO. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. LONGAVILLE. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector. DUMAIN. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. ARMADO. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried; when he breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with my device. [To the PRINCESS] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing. [BEROWNE steps forth, and speaks to COSTARD] PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted. ARMADO. I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper. BOYET. [Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot. DUMAIN. [Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard. ARMADO. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal- COSTARD. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. ARMADO. What meanest thou? COSTARD. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench is cast away. She's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours. ARMADO. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die. COSTARD. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta that is quick by him, and hang'd for Pompey that is dead by him. DUMAIN. Most rare Pompey! BOYET. Renowned Pompey! BEROWNE. Greater than Great! Great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the Huge! DUMAIN. Hector trembles. BEROWNE. Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! Stir them on! stir them on! DUMAIN. Hector will challenge him. BEROWNE. Ay, if 'a have no more man's blood in his belly than will sup a flea. ARMADO. By the North Pole, I do challenge thee. COSTARD. I will not fight with a pole, like a Northern man; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my arms again. DUMAIN. Room for the incensed Worthies! COSTARD. I'll do it in my shirt. DUMAIN. Most resolute Pompey! MOTH. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose your reputation. ARMADO. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt. DUMAIN. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge. ARMADO. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. BEROWNE. What reason have you for 't? ARMADO. The naked truth of it is: I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance. BOYET. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen; since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of Jaquenetta's, and that 'a wears next his heart for a favour. Enter as messenger, MONSIEUR MARCADE MARCADE. God save you, madam! PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Welcome, Marcade; But that thou interruptest our merriment. MARCADE. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father- PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Dead, for my life! MARCADE. Even so; my tale is told. BEROWNE. WOrthies away; the scene begins to cloud. ARMADO. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. Exeunt WORTHIES KING. How fares your Majesty? PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. KING. Madam, not so; I do beseech you stay. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours, and entreat, Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide The liberal opposition of our spirits, If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converse of breath- your gentleness Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord. A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue. Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks For my great suit so easily obtain'd. KING. The extreme parts of time extremely forms All causes to the purpose of his speed; And often at his very loose decides That which long process could not arbitrate. And though the mourning brow of progeny Forbid the smiling courtesy of love The holy suit which fain it would convince, Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it From what it purpos'd; since to wail friends lost Is not by much so wholesome-profitable As to rejoice at friends but newly found. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I understand you not; my griefs are double. BEROWNE. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief; And by these badges understand the King. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies, Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours Even to the opposed end of our intents; And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping and vain; Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance; Which parti-coated presence of loose love Put on by us, if in your heavenly eyes Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities, Those heavenly eyes that look into these faults Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, Our love being yours, the error that love makes Is likewise yours. We to ourselves prove false, By being once false for ever to be true To those that make us both- fair ladies, you; And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, Thus purifies itself and turns to grace. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love; Your favours, the ambassadors of love; And, in our maiden council, rated them At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, As bombast and as lining to the time; But more devout than this in our respects Have we not been; and therefore met your loves In their own fashion, like a merriment. DUMAIN. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest. LONGAVILLE. So did our looks. ROSALINE. We did not quote them so. KING. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in. No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur'd much, Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this, If for my love, as there is no such cause, You will do aught- this shall you do for me: Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed To some forlorn and naked hermitage, Remote from all the pleasures of the world; There stay until the twelve celestial signs Have brought about the annual reckoning. If this austere insociable life Change not your offer made in heat of blood, If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds, Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, But that it bear this trial, and last love, Then, at the expiration of the year, Come, challenge me, challenge me by these deserts; And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut My woeful self up in a mournful house, Raining the tears of lamentation For the remembrance of my father's death. If this thou do deny, let our hands part, Neither intitled in the other's heart. KING. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! Hence hermit then, my heart is in thy breast. BEROWNE. And what to me, my love? and what to me? ROSALINE. You must he purged too, your sins are rack'd; You are attaint with faults and perjury; Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick. DUMAIN. But what to me, my love? but what to me? A wife? KATHARINE. A beard, fair health, and honesty; With threefold love I wish you all these three. DUMAIN. O, shall I say I thank you, gentle wife? KATHARINE. No so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say. Come when the King doth to my lady come; Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. DUMAIN. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. KATHARINE. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again. LONGAVILLE. What says Maria? MARIA. At the twelvemonth's end I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. LONGAVILLE. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long. MARIA. The liker you; few taller are so young. BEROWNE. Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me; Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there. Impose some service on me for thy love. ROSALINE. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne, Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, Which you on all estates will execute That lie within the mercy of your wit. To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, And therewithal to win me, if you please, Without the which I am not to be won, You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day Visit the speechless sick, and still converse With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, To enforce the pained impotent to smile. BEROWNE. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be; it is impossible; Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. ROSALINE. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools. A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it; then, if sickly ears, Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans, Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, And I will have you and that fault withal. But if they will not, throw away that spirit, And I shall find you empty of that fault, Right joyful of your reformation. BEROWNE. A twelvemonth? Well, befall what will befall, I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. [ To the King] Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave. KING. No, madam; we will bring you on your way. BEROWNE. Our wooing doth not end like an old play: Jack hath not Jill. These ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy. KING. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth an' a day, And then 'twill end. BEROWNE. That's too long for a play. Re-enter ARMADO ARMADO. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me- PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was not that not Hector? DUMAIN. The worthy knight of Troy. ARMADO. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary: I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three year. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in praise of the Owl and the Cuckoo? It should have followed in the end of our show. KING. Call them forth quickly; we will do so. ARMADO. Holla! approach. Enter All This side is Hiems, Winter; this Ver, the Spring- the one maintained by the Owl, th' other by the Cuckoo. Ver, begin. SPRING When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then on every tree Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks; When turtles tread, and rooks and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks; The cuckoo then on every tree Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! WINTER When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl: 'Tu-who; Tu-whit, Tu-who'- A merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl: 'Tu-who; Tu-whit, To-who'- A merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. ARMADO. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that way: we this way. Exeunt THE END