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King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place !
[Exeunt King and his train. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. Ros. Pray you, do my commendations ; I would be glad to
Biron. I would you heard it groan.
Boyet. Good sir, be not offended :
Long. Nay, my choler is ended.
[Exit LONGAVILLE. Biron. [Coming forward.] What’s her name in the cap ?
Boyet. Katharine, by good hap.
[Exit BIRON.-Ladies unmask.
And every jest but a word. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board. Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry! Boyet.
And wherefore not ships? No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.
Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; shall that finish the jest ? Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.
[Offering to kiss her. Mar.
Not so, gentle beast; My lips are no common,3 though several they be.
Boyet. Belonging to whom?
To my fortunes and me.
Boyet. If my observation (which very seldom lies),
Prin. With what?
Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd
Boyet. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos'd:
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak’st skilfully.
What then, do
? Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. Boyet.
You are too hard for me.
-Act III. Sc. I.
SCENE I.-Another part of the same.
Enter ARMADO and MOTH.
[Singing. Arm. 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 love.
Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl ?? Arm. How meanest thou ? brawling in French ?
Moth. No, my complete master : but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet,3 humour it with turning up your eyelids; sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love ; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms crossed on your thin belly's doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting ; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are compliments, these are humours ; these betray nice wenches—that would be betrayed without these ; and make them men of note (do you note me ?), that most are affected to these.
Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience ?
Moth. No, master ; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love ?
Arm. Almost I had.
Moth. A man, if I live ; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her: in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.
Arm. I am all these three.
Moth. A message well sympathised ; a horse to be ambassador for an ass !
Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou ?
Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited. But I go.
Arm. The way is but short ; away.
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?