Page:Love's Labour's Lost (1925) Yale.djvu/93

Love's Labour's Lost, V. ii

Kath. Bleat softly then; the butcher hears you cry.

[They converse apart.]

Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen

As is the razor's edge invisible,

Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen,

Above the sense of sense; so sensible

Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings

Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.

Ros. Not one word more, my maids: break off, break off.

Ber. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!

King. Farewell, mad wenches: you have simple wits.

Exeunt [King and Lords].

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.

Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at?

Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.

Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.

Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!

Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?

Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces?

This pert Berowne was out of countenance quite.

Ros. They were all in lamentable cases.

The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin. Berowne did swear himself out of all suit.

Mar. Dumaine was at my service, and his sword:

'No point,' quoth I: my servant straight was mute.

Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;

 260 sense of sense: i.e. perception

sensible: sensitive

261 conference: conversation

conceits: fancies

264 dry-beaten: cudgeled

269 Well-liking: plump

270 kingly-poor flout: a fling poor for a king

275 weeping-ripe for: ready to weep for want of

278 No point; ''cf. II. i. 188''

