KATHARINE. So do not you, for you are a light wench. ROSALINE. Indeed, I weigh not you, and therefore light. KATHARINE. You weigh me not? O, that’s you care not for me. ROSALINE. Great reason, for past cure is still past care. PRINCESS. Well bandied both; a set of wit well played. But, Rosaline, you have a favour too. Who sent it? And what is it? ROSALINE. I would you knew. An if my face were but as fair as yours, My favour were as great. Be witness this. Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne; The numbers true, and, were the numbering too, I were the fairest goddess on the ground. I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter. PRINCESS. Anything like? ROSALINE. Much in the letters, nothing in the praise. PRINCESS. Beauteous as ink: a good conclusion. KATHARINE. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. ROSALINE. ’Ware pencils, how! Let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter. O, that your face were not so full of O’s! PRINCESS. A pox of that jest! And beshrew all shrews. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumaine? KATHARINE. Madam, this glove. PRINCESS. Did he not send you twain? KATHARINE. Yes, madam, and moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover. A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compiled, profound simplicity. MARIA. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville. The letter is too long by half a mile. PRINCESS. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart The chain were longer and the letter short? MARIA. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. PRINCESS. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. ROSALINE. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. That same Berowne I’ll torture ere I go. O that I knew he were but in by th’ week! How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek, And wait the season, and observe the times, And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes, And shape his service wholly to my hests, And make him proud to make me proud that jests! So pair-taunt-like would I o’ersway his state, That he should be my fool, and I his fate. PRINCESS. None are so surely caught, when they are catched, As wit turned fool. Folly, in wisdom hatched, Hath wisdom’s warrant and the help of school And wit’s own grace to grace a learned fool. ROSALINE. The blood of youth burns not with such excess As gravity’s revolt to wantonness. MARIA. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note As fool’ry in the wise when wit doth dote, Since all the power thereof it doth apply To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. Enter Boyet. PRINCESS. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. BOYET. O, I am stabbed with laughter! Where’s her Grace? PRINCESS. Thy news, Boyet? BOYET. Prepare, madam, prepare! Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are Against your peace. Love doth approach disguised, Armed in arguments. You’ll be surprised. Muster your wits, stand in your own defence, Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.