But that one half which is unsatisfied,
We will give up our right in Aquitaine,
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 Aquitaine;
Which we much rather had depart withal
And have the money by our father lent
Than Aquitaine 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.
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.
I do protest I never heard of it;
And if you prove it, I’ll repay it back
Or yield up Aquitaine.
We arrest your word.
Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For such a sum from special officers
Of Charles his father.
Satisfy me so.
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.
It shall suffice me: at which interview
All liberal reason I will yield unto.
Meantime 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.
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell:
To-morrow shall we visit you again.
Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace!
Thy own wish wish I thee in every place! Exit.
Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.
Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.
Alack, let it blood.
Would that do it good?
My physic says “ay.”
Will you prick’t with your eye?
No point, with my knife.
Now, God save thy life!
And yours from long living!
I cannot stay thanksgiving. Retiring.
Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?
The heir of Alençon, Katharine her name.
A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. Exit.
I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?
A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.
Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.
She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.
Pray you, sir, whose daughter?
Her mother’s, I have heard.
God’s blessing on your beard!
Good sir, be not offended.
She is an heir of Falconbridge.
Nay, my choler is ended.
She is a most sweet lady.
Not unlike, sir, that may be. Exit Longaville.
What’s her name in the cap?
Rosaline, by good hap.
Is she wedded or no?
To her will, sir, or so.
You are welcome, sir: adieu.
Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. Exit Biron.
That last is Biron, the merry madcap lord:
Not a word with him but a jest.
And every jest but a word.
It was well done of you to take him at his word.
I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.
And wherefore not ships?
No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.
You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish the jest?
Not so, gentle beast:
My lips are no common, though several they be.
To my fortunes and me.
Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree:
This civil war of wits were much better used
On Navarre and his book-men; for here ’tis abused.
If my observation, which very seldom lies,
By the heart’s still rhetoric disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.
With that which we lovers entitle affected.
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 impress’d,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride express’d:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight 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, tendering 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.
I’ll give you Aquitaine and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Come to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed.
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.
Thou art an old love-monger and speakest skilfully.
He is Cupid’s grandfather and learns news of him.
Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.
Do you hear, my mad wenches?
No.
What then, do you see?
Ay, our way to be gone.
You are too hard for me. Exeunt.
Act III
Scene I
The same.
| Enter Armado and Moth. | |
| Armado | Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing. |
| Moth | Concolinel. Singing. |
| Armado | 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 |
