Page:Love's Labour's Lost (1925) Yale.djvu/49

Love's Labour's Lost, IV. i 

Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard

Against the steep uprising of the hill?

Boyet. I know not; but I think it was not he.

Prin. Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind.

Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch;

On Saturday we will return to France.

Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush

That we must stand and play the murtherer in?

For. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;

A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.

Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,

And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.

For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.

Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say no?

O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe!

For. Yes, madam, fair.

Prin. Nay, never paint me now:

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.

Here, good my glass.—[Gives money.] Take this for telling true:

Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

Prin. See, see! my beauty will be sav'd by merit.

 9 coppice: thicket

10 stand: hunter's station

17 fair: beauty

18 my glass: mirror, i.e. the Forester

20 inherit: possess

21 merit: good deeds

