BOYET.
Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear.
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes, for it can never be
They will digest this harsh indignity.
PRINCESS.
Will they return?
BOYET.
They will, they will, God knows,
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows.
Therefore, change favours and, when they repair,
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.
PRINCESS.
How “blow”? How “blow”? Speak to be understood.
BOYET.
Fair ladies masked are roses in their bud.
Dismasked, their damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
PRINCESS.
Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do
If they return in their own shapes to woo?
ROSALINE.
Good madam, if by me you’ll be advised,
Let’s mock them still, as well known as disguised.
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguised like Muscovites in shapeless gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penned,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our tent to us.
BOYET.
Ladies, withdraw. The gallants are at hand.
PRINCESS.
Whip to our tents, as roes run o’er the land.
[Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Katharine and Maria.]