¶Rosa. But that you take what doth to you belong,
¶It were a fault to
snatch wordes from my tongue.
2310Ber. O, I am yours and all that I po
sse
sse.
¶Rosa. All the foole mine.
¶Ber. I cannot giue you le
sse.
¶Ros. Which of the Vizards was it that you wore?
¶Ber. Where, when, what Vizard? why demaund you this?
¶Rosa. There, then, that Vizard, that
superfluous ca
se,
¶That hid the wor
se, and
shewed the better face.
¶King. We were de
scried, theyle mock vs now dounright.
2320Duman. Let vs confe
sse and turne it to a ie
st.
¶Quee. Amazde my Lord? Why lookes your highnes
sad?
¶Rosa. Helpe holde his browes, heele
sound: why looke
2325Sea
sicke I thinke comming from
Muscouie.
¶Bero. Thus pooure the Starres downe plagues for periurie.
¶Can anie face of bra
sse hold longer out?
¶Heere
stand I, Ladie dart thy
skill at me,
¶Bru
se me with
scorne, confound me with a flout.
2330Thru
st thy
sharpe wit quite through my ignorance,
¶Cut me to peeces with thy keene conceit.
¶And I will wi
sh thee neuer more to daunce,
¶Nor neuer more in Ru
ssian habite waite.
¶O neuer will I tru
st to
speaches pend,
2335Nor to the motion of a Schoole-boyes tongue
:
¶Nor neuer come in vizard to my friend,
¶Nor woo in rime like a blind harpers
songue.
¶Taffata phra
ses,
silken tearmes preci
se,
¶Three pilde Hiberboles,
spruce affection:
2340Figures pedanticall, the
se
sommer flies,
¶Haue blowne me full of maggot o
stentation.
¶I do for
sweare them, and I here prote
st,
¶By this white Gloue (how white the hand God knowes)
¶Hencefoorth my wooing minde
shalbe expre
st
2345In ru
sset yeas, and hone
st ker
sie noes.
¶And to begin Wench,
so God helpe me law,
¶My loue to thee is
sound,
sance cracke or flaw.
¶Rosa. Sans, sans, I pray you.
H3
A pleasant conceited Comedie:
