Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do!
205 Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,
Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.
Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
[208] Thou now request’st but moonshine in the water.
[209] King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one change.
210 Thou bid’st me beg: this begging is not strange.
Ros. Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon. [Music plays.
[212] Not yet! no dance! Thus change I like the moon.