Qu. Twentie adieus my frozen Muscouits. Are these the breed of wits so wondred at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweete breathes puft out
Rosa. Wel-liking wits they haue, grosse, grosse, fat, fat
Qu. O pouertie in wit, Kingly poore flout. Will they not (thinke you) hang themselues to night? Or euer 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 seruice, and his sword: No point (quoth I:) my seruant straight was mute
Ka. Lord Longauill 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
Ros. Well, better wits haue worne plain statute caps, But will you heare; the King is my loue sworne
Qu. And quicke Berowne hath plighted faith to me
Kat. And Longauill was for my seruice borne
Mar. Dumaine is mine as sure as barke on tree
Boyet. Madam, and prettie mistresses giue eare, Immediately they will againe be heere In their owne shapes: for it can neuer be, They will digest this harsh indignitie
Qu. Will they returne? Boy. They will they will, God knowes, And leape for ioy, though they are lame with blowes: Therefore change Fauours, and when they repaire, Blow like sweet Roses, in this summer aire
Qu. How blow? how blow? Speake to bee vnderstood
Boy. Faire Ladies maskt, are Roses in their bud: Dismaskt, their damaske sweet commixture showne, Are Angels vailing clouds, or Roses blowne
Qu. Auant perplexitie: What shall we do, If they returne in their owne shapes to wo? Rosa. Good Madam, if by me you'l be aduis'd. Let's mocke them still as well knowne as disguis'd: Let vs complaine to them what fooles were heare, Disguis'd like Muscouites 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 vs
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand
Quee. Whip to our Tents, as Roes runnes ore Land.
Enter the King and the rest.
King. Faire sir, God saue you. Wher's the Princesse? Boy. Gone to her Tent. Please it your Maiestie command me any seruice to her? King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word
Boy. I will, and so will she, I know my Lord. Enter.
Ber. This fellow pickes vp wit as Pigeons pease, And vtters it againe, when Ioue doth please. He is Wits Pedler, and retailes his Wares, At Wakes, and Wassels, Meetings, Markets, Faires. And we that sell by grosse, the Lord doth know, Haue not the grace to grace it with such show. This Gallant pins the Wenches on his sleeue. Had he bin Adam, he had tempted Eue. He can carue too, and lispe: Why this is he, That kist away his hand in courtesie. This is the Ape of Forme, Monsieur the nice, That when he plaies at Tables, chides the Dice In honorable tearmes: Nay he can sing A meane most meanly, and in Vshering Mend him who can: the Ladies call him sweete. The staires as he treads on them kisse his feete. This is the flower that smiles on euerie one, To shew his teeth as white as Whales bone. And consciences that wil not die in debt, Pay him the dutie of honie-tongued Boyet