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Exit.

¶

Enter the Princess of France with three attending Ladies [Rosaline, Maria, Katherine] and three Lords, [one named Boyet].

Boyet.

Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits;

Consider who the King your father sends,

To whom he sends, and what’s his embassy:

Yourself, held precious in the world’s esteem,

To parley with the sole inheritor

Of all perfections that a man may owe,

Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight

Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.

Be now as prodigal of all dear grace

As Nature was in making graces dear,

When she did starve the general world beside

And prodigally gave them all to you.

Prin.

Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,

Needs not the painted flourish of your praise:

Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,

Not utt’red by base sale of chapmen’s tongues.

I am less proud to hear you tell my worth

Than you much willing to be counted wise

In spending your wit in the praise of mine.

But now to task the tasker: good Boyet,