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.
Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be understood.
[295] Boyet. Fair ladies mask’d are roses in their bud;
[296] Dismask’d, their damask sweet commixture shown,
[297] Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo?
300 Ros. Good madam, if by me you’ll be advised,