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Their shallow shows and prologue vildly penn’d,

And their rough carriage so ridiculous,

Should be presented at our tent to us.

Boyet.

Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand.

Prin.

Whip to our tents, as roes [run] o’er land.

Exeunt [Princess and Ladies].

Enter the King and the rest [of the Lords in their proper habits].

King.

Fair sir, God save you! Where’s the Princess?

Boyet.

Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty

Command me any service to her thither?

King.

That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

Boyet.

I will, and so will she, I know, my lord.

Exit.

Ber.

This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease,

And utters it again when God doth please.

He is wit’s pedlar, and retails his wares

At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs:

And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,

Have not the grace to grace it with such show.

This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;

Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.

’A can carve too, and lisp; why, this is he

That kiss’d his hand away in courtesy;