Love's Labour's Lost Part 11

But, Rosaline, you have a favour too?

Who sent it? and what is it?

ROSALINE. I would you knew.

An if my face were but as fair as yours, My favour were as great: be witness this.

Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne; The numbers true, and, were the numb'ring too, I were the fairest G.o.ddess on the ground.

I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.

O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Anything like?

ROSALINE. Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Beauteous as ink- a good conclusion.

KATHARINE. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

ROSALINE. Ware pencils, ho! Let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter: O that your face were not so full of O's!

KATHARINE. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows!

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumain?

KATHARINE. Madam, this glove.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Did he not send you twain?

KATHARINE. Yes, madam; and, moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover; A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity.

MARIA. This, and these pearl, to me sent Longaville; The letter is too long by half a mile.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart The chain were longer and the letter short?

MARIA. Ay, or I would these hands might never part.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.

ROSALINE. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.

That same Berowne I'll torture ere I go.

O that I knew he were but in by th' 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 pertaunt-like would I o'ersway his state That he should be my fool, and I his fate.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 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.

ROSALINE. The blood of youth burns not with such excess As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

MARIA. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note As fool'ry in the wise when wit doth dote, Since all the power thereof it doth apply To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

Enter BOYET

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.

BOYET. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her Grace?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thy news, Boyet?

BOYET. Prepare, madam, prepare!

Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are Against your peace. Love doth approach disguis'd, Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd.

Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they That charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say.

BOYET. Under the cool shade of a sycamore I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour; When, lo, to interrupt my purpos'd 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, disguis'd they will be here.

Their herald is a pretty knavish page, That well by heart hath conn'd his emba.s.sage.

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 check their folly, pa.s.sion's solemn tears.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But what, but what, come they to visit us?

BOYET. They do, they do, and are apparell'd thus, Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.

Their purpose is to parley, 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.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And will they so? The gallants shall be task'd, For, ladies, we will 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 Berowne take me for Rosaline.

And change you favours too; so shall your loves Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.

ROSALINE. Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight.

KATHARINE. But, in this changing, what is your intent?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 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.

ROSALINE. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 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.

BOYET. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart, And quite divorce his memory from his part.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 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.

[Trumpet sounds within]

BOYET. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd; the maskers come.

[The LADIES mask]

Enter BLACKAMOORS music, MOTH as Prologue, the KING and his LORDS as maskers, in the guise of Russians

MOTH. All hail, the richest heauties on the earth!

BOYET. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.

MOTH. A holy parcel of the fairest dames [The LADIES turn their backs to him]

That ever turn'd their- backs- to mortal views!

BEROWNE. Their eyes, villain, their eyes.

MOTH. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views!

Out- BOYET. True; out indeed.

MOTH. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold- BEROWNE. Once to behold, rogue.

MOTH. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes- with your sun-beamed eyes- BOYET. They will not answer to that epithet; You were best call it 'daughter-beamed eyes.'

MOTH. They do not mark me, and that brings me out.

BEROWNE. Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue.

Exit MOTH ROSALINE. 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.

BOYET. What would you with the Princess?

BEROWNE. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

ROSALINE. What would they, say they?

BOYET. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

ROSALINE. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.

BOYET. She says you have it, and you may be gone.

KING. Say to her we have measur'd many miles To tread a measure with her on this gra.s.s.

BOYET. They say that they have measur'd many a mile To tread a measure with you on this gra.s.s.

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.