Ros. The hour that fools should ask.
Biron. Now fair befall your mask!
Ros. Fair fall the face it covers!
125 Biron. And send you many lovers!
Ros. Amen, so you be none.
Biron. Nay, then will I be gone.
King. Madam, your father here doth intimate
[129] The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
130 Being but the one half of an entire sum
Disbursed by my father in his wars.