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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [290]

By Root 18874 0
not free,

For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE.

No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.

BEROWNE.

Our states are forfeit; seek not to undo us.

ROSALINE.

It is not so; for how can this be true,

That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?

BEROWNE.

Peace; for I will not have to do with you.

ROSALINE.

Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

BEROWNE.

Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end.

KING.

Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression

Some fair excuse.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE.

The fairest is confession.

Were not you here but even now, disguis'd?

KING.

Madam, I was.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE.

And were you well advis'd?

KING.

I was, fair madam.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE.

When you then were here,

What did you whisper in your lady's ear?

KING.

That more than all the world I did respect her.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE.

When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.

KING.

Upon mine honour, no.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE.

Peace, peace, forbear;

Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.

KING.

Despise me when I break this oath of mine.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE.

I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline,

What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

ROSALINE.

Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear

As precious eyesight, and did value me

Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,

That he would wed me, or else die my lover.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE.

God give thee joy of him! The noble lord

Most honourably doth uphold his word.

KING.

What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth,

I never swore this lady such an oath.

ROSALINE.

By heaven, you did; and, to confirm it plain,

You gave me this; but take it, sir, again.

KING.

My faith and this the Princess I did give;

I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE.

Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;

And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear.

What, will you have me, or your pearl again?

BEROWNE.

Neither of either; I remit both twain.

I see the trick on't: here was a consent,

Knowing aforehand of our merriment,

To dash it like a Christmas comedy.

Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,

Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,

That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick

To make my lady laugh when she's dispos'd,

Told our intents before; which once disclos'd,

The ladies did change favours; and then we,

Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.

Now, to our perjury to add more terror,

We are again forsworn in will and error.

Much upon this it is; [To BOYET] and might not you

Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?

Do not you know my lady's foot by th' squier,

And laugh upon the apple of her eye?

And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?

You put our page out. Go, you are allow'd;

Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.

You leer upon me, do you? There's an eye

Wounds like a leaden sword.

BOYET.

Full merrily

Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.

BEROWNE.

Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have done.

Enter COSTARD

Welcome, pure wit! Thou part'st a fair fray.

COSTARD.

O Lord, sir, they would know

Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no?

BEROWNE.

What, are there but three?

COSTARD.

No, sir; but it is vara fine,

For every one pursents three.

BEROWNE.

And three times thrice is nine.

COSTARD.

Not so, sir; under correction, sir,

I hope it is not so.

You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we know;

I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir-

BEROWNE.

Is not nine.

COSTARD.

Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

BEROWNE.

By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

COSTARD.

O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by

reck'ning, sir.

BEROWNE.

How much is it?

COSTARD.

O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will

show whereuntil it doth amount. For mine own part, I am, as they

say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great,

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