Ber. Tell her we measure them by weary steps. Boy. She heares her selfe.

Rosa. How manie wearie steps,

Of many wearie miles you have ore-gone,

Are numbred in the travell of one mile?

210

Bero. We number nothing that we spend for you, Our dutie is so rich, so infinite,

That we may doe it still without accompt.

Vouchsafe to shew the sunshine of your
That we (like savages) may worship it.

face,

Rosa. My face is but a Moone, and clouded too. Kin. Blessed are clouds, to doe as such clouds do. Vouchsafe bright Moone, and these thy stars to shine, (Those clouds remooved) upon our waterie eyne.1 1 eyes Rosa. O vaine peticioner, beg a greater matter, 220 Thou now requests but Mooneshine in the water.

Kin. Then in our measure, vouchsafe but one change. Thou bidst me begge, this begging is not strange. Rosa. Play musicke then: nay you must doe it soone. [Music plays.]

Not yet no dance: thus change I like the Moone. Kin. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?

Rosa. You tooke the Moone at full, but now shee's changed?

Kin. Yet still she is the Moone, and I the Man. 230 Rosa. [King] The musick playes, vouchsafe some motion to it: [Rosa.] Our eares vouchsafe it. Kin. But your legges should doe it.

Ros. Since you are strangers, & come here by chance, Wee'll not be nice, take hands, we will not dance.

222. vouchsafe but: do but vouchsafe-IQ.

232. new 1. at Our-THEOBAld.

Kin. Why take you hands then?

Rosa. Onelie to part friends.

Curtsie sweet hearts, and so the Measure ends.
Kin. More measure of this measure, be not nice.
Rosa. We can afford no more at such a price.

240

Kin. Prise your selves: What buyes your companie? Rosa. Your absence onelie.

Kin. That can never be.

Rosa. Then cannot we be bought: and so adue, Twice to your Visore, and halfe once to you.

Kin. If you denie to dance, let's hold more chat. Ros. In private then.

Kin. I am best pleas'd with that.

248

[They converse apart.] Be. White handed Mistris, one sweet word with thee. Qu. Hony, and Milke, and Suger: there is three. Ber. Nay then two treyes, an if you grow so nice Methegline, Wort, and Malmsey; well runne dice: There's halfe a dozen sweets.

Qu. Seventh sweet adue, since you can cogg,1

Ile play no more with you.
Ber. One word in secret.
Qu. Let it not be sweet.
Ber. Thou greev'st my gall.
Qu. Gall, bitter.

1

1 cheat

Ber. Therefore meete. [They converse apart.] 260 Du. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?

Mar. Name it.

Dum. Faire Ladie.

Mar. Say you so? Faire Lord:

Take you that for your faire Lady.

236. you: we-1Q.

241. your selves: you yourselves-1Q. 265. you out-12.

253-5. 2 rhymed 11.-2Rowe.

Du. Please it you,

As much in private, and Ile bid adieu.

[They converse apart.] Mar. [Kath.] What, was your vizard made without a tong? |

Long. I know the reason Ladie why you aske.

Mar. [Kath.] O for your reason, quickly sir, Ilong. Long. You have a double tongue within your mask. And would affoord my speechlesse vizard halfe.

272

Mar. [Kath.] Veale quoth the Dutch-man: is not Veale a Calfe?

Long. A Calfe faire Ladie?

Mar. [Kath.] No, a faire Lord Calfe.

Long. Let's part the word.

Mar. [Kath.] No, Ile not be your halfe:

Take all and weane it, it may prove an Oxe.

Long. Looke how you but your selfe in these sharpe mockes.

Will you give hornes chast Ladie? Do not so.

281

Mar. [Kath.] Then die a Calfe before your horns do grow.

Lon. One word in private with you ere I die. Mar. [Kath.] Bleat softly then, the Butcher heares you cry. [They converse apart.] Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the Razors edge, invisible:

Cutting a smaller haire then may be seene,
Above the sense of sence so sensible:

Seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings, 290
Fleeter then arrows, bullets wind, thoght, swifter things
Rosa. Not one word more my maides, breake off,
breake off.

280. but: butt-1Q.

Ber. By heaven, all drie beaten with pure scoffe. King. Farewell madde Wenches, you have simple wits.

Exeunt.

Qu. Twentie adieus my frozen Muscovits. Are these the breed of wits so wondred at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweete breathes puft out. 300

Rosa. Wel-liking wits they have, grosse, grosse, fat, fat.
Qu. O povertie in wit, Kingly poore flout.

Will they not (thinke you) hang themselves to night?
Or ever but in vizards shew their faces:
This pert Berowne was out of count❜nance quite.
Rosa. They were all in lamentable cases.
The King was weeping ripe for a good word.

Qu. Berowne did sweare himselfe out of all suite.
Mar. Dumaine was at my service, and his sword:
No point (quoth I:) my servant straight was mute. 310
Ka. Lord Longavill said I came ore his hart:
And trow you what he call'd me?

Qu. Qualme perhaps.

Kat. Yes in good faith.

Qu. Go sicknesse as thou art.

320

Ros. Well, better wits have worne plain statute caps, But wil you heare; the King is my love sworne. Qu. And quicke Berowne hath plighted faith to me. Kat. And Longavill was for my service borne. Mar. Dumaine is mine as sure as barke on tree. Boyet. Madam, and prettie mistresses give eare, Immediately they will againe be heere In their owne shapes: for it can never be, They will digest this harsh indignitie. Qu. Will they returne?

306. They: O, they-2-4F.

Boy. They will they will, God knowes,

And leape for joy, though they are lame with blowes: Therefore change Favours, and when they repaire, Blow like sweet Roses, in this summer aire.

Qu. How blow? how blow? Speake to bee under331

stood.

Boy. Faire Ladies maskt, are Roses in their bud: Dismaskt, their damaske sweet commixture showne, Are Angels vailing clouds, or Roses blowne.

Qu. Avant perplexitie: What shall we do, If they returne in their owne shapes to wo?

Rosa. Good Madam, if by me you'l be advis'd, Let's mocke them still as well knowne as disguis'd: Let us complaine to them what fooles were heare, Disguis'd like Muscovites in shapelesse geare: And wonder what they were, and to what end Their shallow showes, and Prologue vildely pen'd: And their rough carriage so ridiculous, Should be presented at our Tent to us.

340

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand. Quee. Whip to our Tents, as Roes runnes ore Land.

Exeunt.

Enter the King and the rest [in their proper habits].
King. Faire sir, God save you. Wher's the Princesse?
Boy. Gone to her Tent.
350
Please it your Majestie command me any service to her?
King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
Boy. I will, and so will she, I know my Lord.
Ber. This fellow pickes up wit as Pigeons pease,

And utters it againe, when Jove doth please.

350-1. Gone.. Majestie: 1 1.-Capell.
351. to her: to her thither-IQ.
355. Jove: God-IQ.

Exit.

354. pickes: pecks-IQ.