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Prin.

Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear,

And Lord Berowne (I thank him) is my dear.

What? will you have me, or your pearl again?

Ber.

Neither of either; I remit both twain.

I see the trick an’t; here was a consent,

Knowing aforehand of our merriment,

To dash it like a Christmas comedy.

Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,

Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,

That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick

To make my lady laugh when she’s dispos’d,

Told our intents before; which once disclos’d,

The ladies did change favors; and then we,

Following the signs, woo’d but the sign of she.

Now, to our perjury to add more terror,

We are again forsworn, in will and error.

Much upon this ’tis;

[to Boyet]

and might not you

Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?

Do not you know my lady’s foot by th’ squier,

And laugh upon the apple of her eye?

And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?

You put our page out. Go, you are allow’d;