ROSALINE.
They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
That same Berowne I’ll torture ere I go.
O that I knew he were but in by th’ week!
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes,
And shape his service wholly to my hests,
And make him proud to make me proud that jests!
So pair-taunt-like would I o’ersway his state,
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.
PRINCESS.
None are so surely caught, when they are catched,
As wit turned fool. Folly, in wisdom hatched,
Hath wisdom’s warrant and the help of school
And wit’s own grace to grace a learned fool.
ROSALINE.
The blood of youth burns not with such excess
As gravity’s revolt to wantonness.
MARIA.
Folly in fools bears not so strong a note
As fool’ry in the wise when wit doth dote,
Since all the power thereof it doth apply
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.
Enter Boyet.
PRINCESS.
Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
BOYET.
O, I am stabbed with laughter! Where’s her Grace?
PRINCESS.
Thy news, Boyet?
BOYET.
Prepare, madam, prepare!
Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are
Against your peace. Love doth approach disguised,
Armed in arguments. You’ll be surprised.
Muster your wits, stand in your own defence,
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.
PRINCESS.
Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they
That charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say.