Dear Princess, were not his requests so far
From reason’s yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding ’gainst some reason in my breast,
And go well satisfied to France again.
Prin.
You do the King my father too much wrong,
And wrong the reputation of your name,
In so unseeming to confess receipt
Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.
King.
I do protest I never heard of it;
And, if you prove it, I’ll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitaine.
Prin.
We arrest your word.
Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For such a sum from special officers
Of Charles his father.
King.
Satisfy me so.
Boyet.
So please your Grace, the packet is not come
Where that and other specialties are bound:
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.
King.
It shall suffice me; at which interview
All liberal reason I will yield unto.
Mean time receive such welcome at my hand
As honor (without breach of honor) may
Make tender of to thy true worthiness.
You may not come, fair Princess, within my gates,
But here without you shall be so receiv’d
As you shall deem yourself lodg’d in my heart,
Though so denied fair harbor in my house.
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell.
To-morrow shall we visit you again.
Prin.
Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace!
King.
Thy own wish wish I thee in every place.
Exit [with Longaville, Dumaine, and Attendants].
Ber.
Lady, I will commend you to [mine own] heart.
Ros.
Pray you, do my commendations—I would be glad to see it.
Ber.
I would you heard it groan.
Ros.
Is the fool sick?
Ber.
Sick at the heart.
Ros.
Alack, let it blood.
Ber.
Would that do it good?
Ros.
My physic says ay.
Ber.
Will you prick’t with your eye?
Ros.
No point, with my knife.
Ber.
Now God save thy life!
Ros.
And yours from long living!
Ber.
I cannot stay thanksgiving.
Exit.
Enter Dumaine.
Dum.
Sir, I pray you a word. What lady is that same?
Boyet.
The heir of Alanson, [Katherine] her name.
Dum.
A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.
Exit.
[Enter Longaville.]
Long.
I beseech you a word. What is she in the white?
Boyet.
A woman sometimes, and you saw her in the light.
Long.
Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.
Boyet.
She hath but one for herself, to desire that were a shame.
Long.
Pray you, sir, whose daughter?
Boyet.
Her mother’s, I have heard.
Long.
God’s blessing on your beard!
Boyet.
Good sir, be not offended,
She is an heir of Falconbridge.
Long.
Nay, my choler is ended.
She is a most sweet lady.
Boyet.
Not unlike, sir, that may be.
Exit Longaville.
Enter Berowne.
Ber.
What’s her name in the cap?
Boyet.
[Rosaline,] by good hap.
Ber.
Is she wedded or no?
Boyet.
To her will, sir, or so.
Ber.
O, you are welcome, sir, adieu.
Boyet.
Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
Exit Berowne.
Mar.
That last is Berowne, the merry madcap lord.
Not a word with him but a jest.
Boyet.
And every jest but a word.
Prin.
It