Disbursed by my father in his wars.

But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,).

Received that sum; yet there remains unpaid

A hundred thousand more: in surety of the which,
One part of Aquitain is bound to us,

Although not valued to the money's worth.
If then the king your father will restore
But that one half which is unsatisfied,
We will give up our right in Aquitain,
And hold fair friendship with his majesty.
, But that, it seems, he little purposeth,
For here he doth demand to have repaid
A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,
On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,
To have his title live in Aquitain;

Which we much rather had depart withal,
And have the money by our father lent,

Than Aquitain so gelded as it is.

Dear princess, were not his requests so far

From reason's yielding, your fair self should make A yielding, 'gainst some reason in my breast;

And go well satisfied to France again.

Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name,

In so unseeming to confess receipt

Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.
King. I do protest I never heard of it;
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back,

Or yicil up Aquitain.

Prin. We arrest your word :Boyet, you can produce acquittances, For such a sum, from special officers Of Charles his father.

King. Satisfy me so.

Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not

come,

Where that and other specialties are bound;
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

King. It shall suffice me: at which interview,
All liberal reason I will yield unto.

Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand,
As honour, without breach of honour, may
Make tender of to thy true worthiness:
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates;
But here without you shall be so received,
As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart,
Though so denied fair harbour in my house.

. Part.

Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell:
To-morrow shall we visit you again.
Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your

grace!

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place! [Exeunt King and his Train. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.

Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.

Biron. I would, you heard it groan.

Ros. Is the fool sick?

Biron. Sick at heart.

Ros. Alack, let it blood.

Biron. Would that do it good?

Ros. My physic says, I.

Biron. Will you prick't with your eye?

Ros. No poynt with my knife.

Biron. Now, God save thy life!
Ros. And yours from long living!
Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving.

[Retiring.

Dum. Sir, I pray you a word: what lady is that

same?

Boyet. The heir of Alençon; Rosaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well.

[Exit.

Long. I beseech you, a word :-What is she in

the white?

Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.

Long. Perchance, light in the light: I desire her

name.

Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire that, were a shame.

Long. Pray you, Sir, whose daughter?
Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard.
Long. God's blessing on your beard!

Boyet. Good Sir, be not offended:

She is an heir of Falconbridge.

Long. Nay, my choler is ended.

She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be. [Exit Long. Biron. What's her name, in the cap?

Boyet. Katharine, by good hap.

Biron. Is she wedded, or no?

Boyet. To her will, Sir, or so.

Biron. You are welcome, Sir; adieu!

• Ayes, yes.

A French particle of negation.

Boyet. Farewell to me, Sir, and welcome to you. [Exit Biron.-Ladies unmask.

Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-caplord; Not a word with him but a jest. Boyet. And every jest but a word.

Prin. It was well done of you, to take him at his word.

Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to

board.

Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry!
Boyet. And wherefore not ships?

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.
Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; shall that finish

the jest?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

Mar. Not so, gentle beast;

[Offering to kiss her.

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:

The civil war of wits were much better used
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused.
Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom

lies,)

By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. Prin. Your reason?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their

retire

To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they

were glass'd,

Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. His face's own margent did quote such amazes, That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes:

* A quibble, several signified unenclosed lands.

I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed-
Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye

hath disclosed;

I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st

skilfully.

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.

Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ?

Mar. No.

Boyet. What then, do you see?
Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.

Boyet. You are too hard for me.

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I-Another Part of the same.

Enter ARMADO and Мотн.

Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense

of hearing. Moth. Concolinel. [Singing. Arm. Sweet air!-Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must employ 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 complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; sigh a note, and sing a note; sometime through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love; sometime through the nose, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms cross'd on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away :-These are compliments, these

• Hastily.

+ A kind of dance.

↑ Canary was the name of a spritely dance.

are humours; these betray nice wenches-that would be betray'd without these; and make them men of note, (do you note, men?) that most are affected to these.

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience? Moth. By my penny of observation.

Arm. But O, but 0,

Moth. -the hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm. Calls't thou my love, hobby-horse?

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

Arm. Almost I had.

Moth. Negligent student! Learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her: in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A message well sympathised; a horse to be embassador for an ass!

Arm. Ha, ha! What sayest thou ?

Moth. Marry, Sir, you must send the ass upon the

horse, for he is very slow-gaited: but I go.

Arm. The way is but short; away.

Moth. As swift as lead, Sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?

Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

Moth. Minimè, honest master; or rather, master,

no.

Arm. I say, lead is slow.

Moth. You are too swift Sir, to say so:

Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun?

Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric !

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he: -I shoot thee at the swain.

Moth. Thump, then, and I fiee.

• Quick, ready.

[Exit.