Sans 'sans,' I pray you.
Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick;
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft! let us see:
Write 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three;
They are infected; in their hearts it lies;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are visited; you are not free,
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.
No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.
Our states are forfeit; seek not to undo us.
It is not so. For how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?
Peace! for I will not have to do with you.
Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
Speak for yourselves: my wit is at an end.
Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression
Some fair excuse.
The fairest is confession.
Were not you here but even now, disguis'd?
Madam, I was.
And were you well advis'd?
I was, fair madam.
When you then were here,
What did you whisper in your lady's ear?
That more than all the world I did respect her.
When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.
Upon mine honour, no.
Peace! peace! forbear;
Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.
Despise me when I break this oath of mine.
I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear?
Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
As precious eyesight, and did value me
Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
God give thee joy of him! The noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.
What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth,
I never swore this lady such an oath.
By heaven, you did; and, to confirm it plain,
You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.
My faith and this the princess I did give;
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.
Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;
And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear.
What, will you have me, or your pearl again?
Neither of either; I remit both twain.
I see the trick on't: here was a consent,
Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
To dash it like a Christmas comedy.
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,
That smiles his cheek in years, and knows the trick
To make my lady laugh when she's dispos'd,
Told our intents before; which once disclos'd,
The ladies did change favours, and then we,
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn, in will and error.
Much upon this it is: [To BOYET.] and might not you
Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our page out: go, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
You leer upon me, do you? There's an eye
Wounds like a leaden sword.
Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
Lo! he is tilting straight! Peace! I have done.
Welcome, pure wit! thou part'st a fair fray.
O Lord, sir, they would know
Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no?
BEROWNE. What, are there but three?