PRINCESS

Good L. Boyet, my beauty though but mean, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise: Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye, Not uttered by base sale of chapmens tongues: I am less proud to hear you tell my worth, Then you much willing to be counted wise, In spending your Wit in the praise of mine. But now to task the tasker, good Boyet, You are not ignorant all telling fame Does noise abroad Navarre hath made a Vow, Till painful study shall outwear three years, No Woman may approach his silent Court: Therefore to's seems it a needful course, Before we enter his forbidden gates, To know his pleasure, and in that behalf Bold of your worthiness, we single you, As our best moving fair soliciter: Tell him, the Daughter of the King of France On serious business craving quick dispatch, Importuous personal conference with his grace. Haste, signify so much while we attend, Like humble visage Suitors his high will. Was that the king that spurred his horse so hard, Against the steep up rising of the hill? Who ere a was, a showed a mounting mind. Well Lords, to day we shall have our dispatch, Over Saturday we will return to France. Then Forester my friend, Where is the Bush That we must stand and play the murderer in? I thank my Beauty, I am fair that shoot And thereupon thou speakest the fairest shoot. What, what? First praise me, and again say no. Oh short lived pride. Not fair? alack for woe Nay, never paint me now, Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here (good my glass) take this for telling true: Fair payment for foul words, is more then Due. See see, my beauty will be saved by merit. Oh heresy in fair, fit for these days, A giving hand, though fowl, shall have fair praise. But come, the Bow: Now Mercy goes to kill, And shooting well, is then accounted ill: Thus will I save my Credit in the shoot, Not wounding, pity would not let me doote. If wounding then it was to show my skill, That more for praise, then purpose meant to kill. And out of question so it is sometime: Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, When for Fame's sake, for praise and outward partly, We bend to that, the working of the heart. As I for praise alone now seek to spill The poor Dears blood, that my heart means no ill. Only for praise, and praise we may afford, To any Lady that subdues a Lord. The thickest, and the tallest. Whats your will sir? Whats your will? We will read it, I swear. Break the neck of the Wax, and every one give ear. What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter? What vain? What Weathercock? Did you ever hear better? Else your memory is bade, going over it erewhile. Thou fellow, a word. Who gave thee this letter? To whom shouldst thou give it? From which Lord, to which Lady? Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come Lords away. Here sweet, put up this, twilbe thine another day. Sweet hearts we shall be rich ere we depart, If Fairings come thus plentifully in. A Lady walde about with Diamonds: Look you, what I have from the loving King. Nothing but this: yes as much love in Rhyme, As would be crambd up in a sheet of paper Writ a both sides the leaf, margin and all, That he was feign to seal on Cupid's name. Well bandied both, a set of Wit well played. But Rasaline, you have a Favour too? Who sent it? and what is it? Any thing Like? Beauteous as Ink: a good conclusion. A Pox of that jest, and I beshrew all Shrows. But Katherine what was sent to you From fair Dumaine? Did he not send you twain? I think no less: Dost thou not wish in heart The Chain were longer, and the Letter short. We are wise girls to mock our Lovers so. No, to the death we will not move a foot, Nor to their pend speech render we no grace: But while 'tis spoke each turn away his face. Therefore I do it, and I make no doubt, The rest will ere come in, if he be out. Theres no such sport, as sport by sport orethrowne: To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own. So shall we stay mocking intended game, And they well mocked depart away with shame. Berowne did swear him self out of all sum to. Qualm perhapt. Go sickness as thou art. And quick Berowne hath plighted Faith to me. Will they return? How blow? how blow? Speak to be understood. Avant perplexity, What shall we do, If they return in their own shapes to woe? Whip to our Tents as Roes runs over land. Fair in all Hail is foul, as I conceive. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. This Field shall hold me, and so hold your vow: Nor God nor I delights in perjured men. Not so my Lord, it is not so I swear, We have had pastimes here and pleasant game, A mess of Russians left us but of late. I in truth My Lord. Trim gallants, full of Courtship and of state. Amazed my Lord? Why looks your highness sad? No, they are free that gave these tokens to us. The fairest is confession. Were not you here but even now, disguised? And were you well advised? When you then were here, What did you whisper in your Ladies ear? When she shall challenge this, you will reject her. Peace peace, forbear: your Oath once broke, you force not to forswear. I will, and therefore keep it. Rosaline, What did the Russian whisper in your ear? God give thee joy of him: the Noble Lord Most honourably does uphold his word Pardon me sir, this Jewel did she wear, And Lord Berowne (I thank him) is my deer. What? will you have me, or your Pearl again? Stand aside good Pompey. Alas poor Machabaeus, how hath he been baited. Speak brave Hector, we are much delighted. Welcome Marcade, but that thou interrupptest our merriment. Dead for my life. Boyet prepare, I will away to night. Prepare I say: I thank you gracious Lords For all your fair endeavours and entreat: Out of a new sad-soule, that you vouchsafe, In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide, The liberal opposition of our spirits, If overboldly we have born our selves, In the converse of breath (your gentleness Was guilty of it.) Farewell worthy Lord: A heavy heart bears not a humble tongue. Excuse me so coming too short of thanks, For my great suit, so easily obtainde. I understand you not, my griefs are double. We have received your Letters, full of Love: Your Favours, ambassadors of Love. And in our maiden counsel rated them, At courtshyp pleasantiest and courtecie, As bombast and as lining to the time: But more devout then this our respects, Have we not been, and therefore met your Loves, In their own fashion Like a merriment. A time me thinks too short, To make a world-without-end bargain in: No no my Lord, your Grace is periurde much, Full of deer guiltiness, and therefore this, If for my Love (as there is no such cause) You will do ought, this shall you do for me: Your oath I will not trust, but go with speed To some forlorn and naked Hermitage, Remote from all the pleasures of the world: There stay until the twelve Celestial Signs Have brought about the annual reckoning. If his Austere insociable life, Change not your offer made in heat of blood. If ro es and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your Love: But that it bear this trial, and last Love, Then at the expiration of the year, Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts: And by his Virgin palm now kissing thine, I with be thine: and till that instance shut My woeful self up in a mourning house, Raining the tears of lamentation, For the remembrance of my Father's death. If this thou do deny, let our hand S partly, Neither intiled in the others heart. Thou shalt know her fellow by the rest that have no heads. Oh thy letter, thy letter: He's a good friend of mine. Stand a side good bearer. Boyet you can carve, Break up this Capon. You nickname virtue, vice you should have spoke: For virtues office never breaks men's troth. Now by my maiden honour yet as pure, As the vnsallied Lily I protest, A world of torments though I should endure, I would not yield to be your houses guest: So much I hate a breaking cause to be Of heavenly Oaths vowed with integrity. The conqueror is dismayed: proceed good Alexander. I sweet my Lord, and so I take my leave. Was not that Hector? All pride is willing pride, and yours is S to Who are the Votaries my loving Lords, that are vowfel lowes with this virtuous Duke? Know you the man? We arrest your word. Boyet you can produce acquittances, For such a sum from spciall officers, Of Charles his father. Some merry mocking Lord belike, is't so? Such short lived wits do wither as they grow. Who are the rest? God bless my Ladies, are they all in love? That every one her own hath garnished, With such bedecking ornaments of praise. Now, What admittance Lord? Fair I give you back again, and welcome I have not yet: the roof of this Court is too high to be yours, and welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine. I will be welcome then, Conduct me thither. Our Lady help my Lord, he'll be forsworn. Why, will shall break it will, and nothing else. You will the sooner that I were away, For yowl prove periurde if you make me stay. You do the King my fathe too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name, In so unseeming to confess receipt, Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Good wits will be jangling, but gentles agree, This civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his Bookmen, for here 'tis abused. With what? Your reason. Come, to our Pavilion, Boyet is disposed. Were my Lord so, his ignorance were wise Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. I hear your grace hath sworn out Housekeeping: 'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath my Lord, And sin to break it: but pardon me, I am too sudden bold, To teach a teacher ill beseems me. Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, And suddenly resolve me in my suit. Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace.