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And talk’d apace; and in that hour, my lord,

They did not bless us with one happy word.

I dare not call them fools; but this I think,

When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.

Ber.

This jest is dry to me. Gentle sweet,

Your wits makes wise things foolish. When we greet,

With eyes best seeing, heaven’s fiery eye,

By light we lose light; your capacity

Is of that nature that to your huge store

Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.

Ros.

This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye—

Ber.

I am a fool, and full of poverty.

Ros.

But that you take what doth to you belong,

It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.

Ber.

O, I am yours, and all that I possess!

Ros.

All the fool mine?

Ber.

I cannot give you less.

Ros.

Which of the vizards was it that you wore?

Ber.

Where? when? what vizard? why demand you this?

Ros.

There then, that vizard, that superfluous case,

That hid the worse, and show’d the better face.

King [Aside.]

We were descried, they’ll mock us now downright.