Fair ladies mask’d are roses in their bud;
Dismask’d, their damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels [vailing] clouds, or roses blown.
Prin.
Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo?
Ros.
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 vildly penn’d,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our tent to us.
Boyet.
Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand.
Prin.
Whip to our tents, as roes [run] o’er land.
Exeunt [Princess and Ladies].
Enter the King and the rest [of the Lords 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.
Ber.
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 honorable terms; nay, he can sing
A mean most meanly, and in hushering
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 whalë’s 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!
Enter the [Princess, ushered by Boyet, and her]
Ladies.
Ber.
See where it comes! Behavior, what wert thou
Till this madman show’d thee? And what art thou now?
King.
All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!
Prin.
“Fair” in “all hail” is foul, as I conceive.
King.
Conster my speeches better, if you may.
Prin.
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.
Prin.
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.
Prin.
You nickname virtue; vice you should have spoke,
For virtue’s office never breaks men’s troth.
Now by my maiden honor, yet as pure
As the unsallied 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, vow’d with integrity.
King.
