10741013Quee. What plume of fethers is he that indited this letter?

10751014What vaine? What Wethercock? Did you euer heare better?

10771015Boy. I am much deceiued, but I remember the stile.

10781016Quee. Els your memorie is bad, going ore it erewhile.

10791017Boy. This Armado is a Spaniard that keepes here in court,

10801018A Phantasime a Monarcho, and one that makes sport

10811019To the Prince and his Booke-mates.

10821020Quee. Thou fellow, a worde.

10831021Who gaue thee this letter?

10841022Clow. I tolde you, my Lord.

10851023Quee. To whom shouldst thou giue it?

10861024Clow. From my Lord to my Ladie.

10871025Quee. From which Lord, to which Ladie?

10881026Clow. From my Lord Berowne, a good Maister of mine,

10891027To a Ladie of France, that he calde Rosaline.

10901028Quee. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come Lords away.

10911029Here sweete, put vp this, twilbe thine annother day.

10931030Boy. Who is the shooter? Who is the shooter?

10941031Rosa. Shall I teach you to know.

10951032Boy. I my continent of beautie.

10961033Rosa. Why she that beares the Bow. Finely put off.

10971034Boy. My Lady goes to kill hornes, but if thou marrie,

10981035hang me by the necke, if horns that yeere miscarrie.

10991036 Finely put on.

11001037Rosa. Well then I am the shooter.

11011038Boy. And who is your Deare?

11021039Rosa. If we choose by the hornes, your selfe come not

11031040neare. Finely put on in deede.

11041041Maria. You still wrangle with her Boyet, and she strikes

11051042at the brow.

11061043Boyet. But she her selfe is hit lower: Haue I hit her now?

11081044Rosa. Shall I come vpon thee with an olde saying, that