The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

KING. Say to her we have measur’d many miles To tread a measure with her on this grass.

BOYET. They say that they have measur’d many a mile To tread a measure with you on this grass.

ROSALINE. It is not so. Ask them how many inches Is in one mile? If they have measured many, The measure, then, of one is eas’ly told.

BOYET. If to come hither you have measur’d miles, And many miles, the Princess bids you tell How many inches doth fill up one mile.

BEROWNE. Tell her we measure them by weary steps.

BOYET. She hears herself.

ROSALINE. How many weary steps

Of many weary miles you have o’ergone Are numb’red in the travel of one mile?

BEROWNE. We number nothing that we spend for you; Our duty is so rich, so infinite,

That we may do it still without accompt.

Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, That we, like savages, may worship it.

ROSALINE. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

KING. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do.

Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine, Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.

ROSALINE. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Thou now requests but moonshine in the water.

KING. Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change.

Thou bid’st me beg; this begging is not strange.

ROSALINE. Play, music, then. Nay, you must do it soon.

Not yet? No dance! Thus change I like the moon.

KING. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?

ROSALINE. You took the moon at full; but now she’s changed.

KING. Yet still she is the Moon, and I the Man.

The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.

ROSALINE. Our ears vouchsafe it.

KING. But your legs should do it.

ROSALINE. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance, We’ll not be nice; take hands. We will not dance.

KING. 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 tonight?

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?

Seasick, 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