This gallant pins the wenches on his fleeve;
Had he been Adam he had tempted Eve.
He can carve too, and lifp: why, this is he
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy;
This is the ape of form, Monfieur the nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms: nay, he can fing
A mean most mainly; and, in ufhering,
Mend him who can the ladies call him fweet;
The ftairs, 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 due of honey-tongu'd Boyet.
King. A blister on his sweet tongue with
That put Armado's page out of his part!
Enter the Princefs, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine, Boyet, and attendants *.
King. We come to visit you, and purpose now
To lead you to our court; vouchfafe it then.
Prin. This field shall hold me, and fo hold your vow:
Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men.
King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke;
The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
Prin. You nick-name virtue; vice you fhould have
fpoke:
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unfully'd lily, I proteft,
A world of torments though I fhould endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest:
Biron. See, where it comes: behaviour, what wert thou,
Till this man fhew'd thee? and what art thou now
King. All hail, fweet Madam, and fair time of day!
Prin. Fair in all heil is foul, as I conceive.
King. Conftru: my fpeeches better, if you may.
Prin. Then with me better, I will give you leave.
King. We come, &c.
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 fhame.
Prin. Not fo, my Lord; it is not fo, 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.
Ref. Madam, fpeak true. It is no fo, my Lord:
My Lady (to the manner of the days)
In courtefy gives undeferving praife.
We four indeed, confronted were with four
In Ruffian habit: here they ftaid 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.
Biron. This jeft is dry to me. Fair, gentle, fweet,
Your wit makes wife things foolish; when we greet
With eyes beft feeing heav'n's fiery eye,
By light we lofe light; your capacity
Is of that nature, as to your huge ftore
Wife things feem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Ref. This proves you wife and rich; for in my eye-
Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty.
Rof. But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
Biron. O, I am your's, and all that I possess.
Rof. All the fool mine?
Biron. I cannot give you lefs..
Rof. Which of the visors was it that wore ? Biron. Where? when? what vifor? why demand you this?
Rof. There, then, that vizor, that fuperfluous cafe, That hid the worse, and fhew'd the better face.
King. We are defcried; they'll mock us now down
Dum. Let us confefs, and turn it to a jest.
Prin. Amaz'd, my Lord? why looks your Highness
Rof. Help, hold his brows, he'll fwcon: why look you pale?
Sea-fick, I think, coming from Mufcovy.
Biron. Thus pour the ftars down plagues for perjury. Can any face of brafs hold longer out? Here ftand I, Lady, dart thy fkill at me;
Bruife me with fcorn, 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 never more in Ruffian habit wait. O! never will I truft to fpeeches penn'd,
Nor to the motion of a fchool-boy's tongue; Nor never come in vizor to my friend,
Nor woo in rhime like a blind harper's fong. Taffata-phrafes, filken terms precife,
Three pil'd hyperboles, fpruce affectation, Figures pedantical, thefe fummer-flies,
Have blown me full of maggot oftentation:
I do forfwear them; and I here proteft,
By this white glove, (how white the hand, God knows! )
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In ruffet reas, and honeft kerfy Noes:
And to begin, wench, (fo God help me, law!),
My love to thee is found, fans crack or flaw.
Rof. Sans, fans, 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: foft, let us fee;
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:
Thefe Lords are vifited, you are not free;
For the Lords tokens on you both I fee.
Prin. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.
Biron. Our states are forfeit, feek not to undo us.
Rof. It is not fo; for how can this be true,
That you ftand forfeit, being thofe that fue?
Biron. Peace, for I will not have to do with you.
Rof. Nor fhall not, if I do as I intend.
Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end.
King. Teach us, fweet Madam, for our rude tranf
Some fair excufe.
Prin. The fairest is confeffion.
Were you not here, but even now, disguis'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 mine 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. Rofeline,
What did the Ruffian whifper in your ear?
Rof. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
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
Most honourably doth uphold his word.
King. What mean you, Madam? by my life, my I never fwore this Lady fuch an oath. [troth, Rof. 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 fleeve.
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 pleafe-man, fome flight zany,
Some mumble-news, fome trencher-knight, fome Dick,
That smiles his cheek in years; and knows the trick
To make my Lady laugh, when the's difpos'd,
Told our intents before; which once difclos'd,
The ladies did change favours, and then we,
Following the figns, woo'd but the fign of the":
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 [To Boyet,
Foreftal our fport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my Lady's foot by th' fquier,
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 fmock fhall be your fhrowd.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden fword.
Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
Biron. Lo, he is tilting trait. Peace, I have done.
Enter Coftard.
Welcome, pure wit, thou partest a fair fray.
Coft. O Lord, Sir, they would know
Whether the three worthies fhall come in, or no.
Biron. What, are there but three?
Coft. No, Sir, but it is vara fine;
For every one pursents three.
Biron. And three times three is nine?
Caft. Not fo, Sir, under correction, Sir; I hope it is not fo.
You cannot beg us, Sir; I can affure you, Sir, we know what we know: I hope three times thrice, SirBiron. Is not nine?
Caft. Under correction, Sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.
Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. Goft. O Lord, Sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, Sir.
Coft. O Lord, Sir, the parties themselves, the actors, Sir, will fhew whereuntil it doth amount; for my own part, I am, as they fay, but to perfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, Sir.
Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?
|