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.

Prin. 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.

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do, If they return in their own shapes to woo?

Ros. 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.

Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. [Exeunt PRINCESS, Ros., KATH., and MARIA.

Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and
DUMAINE, in their proper habits.

King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is 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.

Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas,
And utters it again when God doth please.
He is wit's pedler, 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 flower 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!

Enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, and Attendants.

Biron. 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!

Prin. Fair in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Prin. 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.

Prin. This field shall hold me, and so 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 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, vow'd with integrity.
King. O! you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited; much to our shame.
Prin. 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 ?
Prin.

Ay, in truth, my lord;
Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.
Ros. 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 stay'd 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 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. Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my

Ros. Help! hold his brows! he'll swoon. Why look you pale?

Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
Biron. 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 visor to my friend;
Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song;
Taffata phrases, silken terms precise,
Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affection,
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, la!
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

Ros. Sans SANS, I pray you.

Biron.

Yet I have a trick

Prin. I will; and therefore keep it.-Rosaline, What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

Ros. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear As precious eye-sight, and did value me Above this world; adding thereto, moreover, That he would wed me, or else 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 troth,

I never swore this lady such an oath.

Ros. 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. 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 see the trick on't:-here was a consent, Knowing aforehand of our merriment, To dash it like a Christmas comedy.

Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

Cost. O Lord! sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir. Biron. How much is it?

Cost. 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 perfect one man,-e'en one poor man-Pompion the great, sir.

Biron. Art thou one of the Worthies?

Cost. 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. Biron. Go, bid them prepare.

some care.

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir: we will take [Exit COSTARD. King. Biron, they will shame us; let them not approach.

Biron. 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.
Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you

now.

That sport best pleases, that doth least know how. Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Die in the zeal of them which it presents,

Their form confounded makes most form in mirth; When great things labouring perish in their birth. Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter ARMADO.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [ARMADO converses with the KING, and delivers a paper to him.

Prin. Doth this man serve God?
Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. A' speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della 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; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Maccabeus.

And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other

five.

Biron. There is five in the first show.
King. You are deceived; 'tis not so.

Biron. 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.

[Seats brought for the KING, PRINCESS, etc.
Pageant of the Nine Worthies.
Enter COSTARD armed, for Pompey.

Cost. "I Pompey am,"-
Boyet.

Cost. "I Pompey am,"-
Boyet.

You lie, you are not he.

With libbard's head on knee.

Biron. Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends with thee.

Cost. "I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,"

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. Cost. 'Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect. I made a little fault in, "great." Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.

Enter Sir NATHANIEL armed, for Alexander. Nath. "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 too right.

Cost. O! sir,-[To NATH.] - you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror. You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-axe 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. - [NATH. 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.

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter HOLOFFERNES armed, for Judas; and Мотн armed, for Hercules.

Hol. "Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed

Hol. "Judas I am,"

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.

Hol. What mean you, sir?

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.

Hol. Begin, sir: you are my elder.

Biron. Well follow'd: Judas was hang'd on an

elder.

Hol. I will not be put out of countenance. Biron. Because thou hast no face.

Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern head.

Dum. The head of a bodkin.

Biron. A death's face in a ring.

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce

seen.

Boyet. The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion.
Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.
Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now forward, for we have put thee in counte

nance.

Hol. You have put me out of countenance.
Biron. False: we have given thee faces.
Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all.
Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.

ward with my device. Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.

[BIRON whispers COSTARD.

Prin. Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.
Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm. "This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,"Cost. The party is gone: fellow Hector, she is

gone; she is two months on her way.

Arm. What meanest thou?

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in her belly already: 'tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd for Jaquenetta that is quick by him, and hang'd for Pompey that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great

Pompey! Pompey the huge!

Dum. Hector trembles.

Biron. Pompey is moved.-More Ates, more

Ates! stir them on! stir them on!

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Biron. Ay, if a' have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.