That same Biron I’ll torture ere I go:
O that I knew he were but in by the week!
How I would make him fawn and beg and seek
And wait the season and observe the times
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes
And shape his service wholly to my hests
And make him proud to make me proud that jests!
So perttaunt-like would I o’ersway his state
That he should be my fool and I his fate.
None are so surely caught, when they are catch’d,
As wit turn’d fool: folly, in wisdom hatch’d,
Hath wisdom’s warrant and the help of school
And wit’s own grace to grace a learned fool.
The blood of youth burns not with such excess
As gravity’s revolt to wantonness.
Folly in fools bears not so strong a note
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote;
Since all the power thereof it doth apply
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.
Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
O, I am stabb’d with laughter! Where’s her grace?
Thy news, Boyet?
Prepare, madam, prepare!
Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are
Against your peace: Love doth approach disguised,
Armed in arguments; you’ll be surprised:
Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.
Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.
Under the cool shade of a sycamore
I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;
When, lo! to interrupt my purposed rest,
Toward that shade I might behold addrest
The king and his companions: warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
And overheard what you shall overhear,
That, by and by, disguised they will be here.
Their herald is a pretty knavish page,
That well by heart hath conn’d his embassage:
Action and accent did they teach him there;
“Thus must thou speak,” and “thus thy body bear:”
And ever and anon they made a doubt
Presence majestical would put him out;
“For,” quoth the king, “an angel shalt thou see;
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.”
The boy replied, “An angel is not evil;
I should have fear’d her had she been a devil.”
With that, all laugh’d and clapp’d him on the shoulder,
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder:
One rubb’d his elbow thus, and fleer’d and swore
A better speech was never spoke before;
Another, with his finger and his thumb,
Cried, “Via! we will do’t, come what will come;”
The third he caper’d, and cried, “All goes well;”
The fourth turn’d on the toe, and down he fell.
With that, they all did tumble on the ground,
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
To cheque their folly, passion’s solemn tears.
But what, but what, come they to visit us?
They do, they do; and are apparell’d thus,
Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress, which they’ll know
By favours several which they did bestow.
And will they so? the gallants shall be task’d;
For, ladies, we shall every one be mask’d;
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despite of suit, to see a lady’s face.
Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear,
And then the king will court thee for his dear;
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine,
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline.
And change your favours too; so shall your loves
Woo contrary, deceived by these removes.
Come on, then; wear the favours most in sight.
But in this changing what is your intent?
The effect of my intent is to cross theirs:
They do it but in mocking merriment;
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook, and so be mock’d withal
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display’d, to talk and greet.
But shall we dance, if they desire to’t?
No, to the death, we will not move a foot;
Nor to their penn’d speech render we no grace,
But while ’tis spoke each turn away her face.
Why, that contempt will kill the speaker’s heart,
And quite divorce his memory from his part.
Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt
The rest will ne’er come in, if he be out.
There’s no such sport as sport by sport o’erthrown,
To make theirs ours and ours none but our own:
So shall we stay, mocking intended game,
And they, well mock’d, depart away with shame. Trumpets sound within.
The trumpet sounds: be mask’d; the maskers come. The Ladies mask.
All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!—
Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.
A holy parcel of the fairest dames, The Ladies turn their backs to him.
That ever turn’d their—backs—to mortal views!
Aside to Moth. Their eyes, villain, their eyes.
That ever turn’d their eyes to mortal views!—
Out—
Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe
Not to behold—
Aside to Moth. Once to behold, rogue.
Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes,
—with your sun-beamed eyes—
They will not answer to that epithet;
You were best call it “daughter-beamed eyes.”
They do not mark me, and that brings me out.
Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue! Exit Moth.
What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet:
If they do speak our language, ’tis our will
That some plain man recount their purposes:
Know what they would.
What would you with the princess?
Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
What would they, say they?
Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.
She says, you have it, and you may be gone.
Say to her, we have measured many miles
To tread a measure with her on this grass.
They
