PRINCESS. Therefore I do it, and I make no doubt The rest will ne’er come in, if he be out. There’s no such sport as sport by sport o’erthrown, To make theirs ours and ours none but our own. So shall we stay, mocking intended game, And they, well mocked, depart away with shame. [_Sound trumpet, within._] BOYET. The trumpet sounds. Be masked; the maskers come. [_The Ladies mask._] Enter Blackamoors with music, Moth, with a speech, the King, Berowne, Longaville and Dumaine disguised. MOTH. _All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!_ BOYET. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. MOTH. _A holy parcel of the fairest dames_ [_The Ladies turn their backs to him._] _That ever turned their_—backs—_to mortal views!_ BEROWNE. _Their eyes_, villain, _their eyes._ MOTH. _That ever turned their eyes to mortal views. Out_— BOYET. True; out indeed. MOTH. _Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold_— BEROWNE. _Once to behold_, rogue! MOTH. _Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes— With your sun-beamed eyes_— BOYET. They will not answer to that epithet. You were best call it “daughter-beamed eyes”. MOTH. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. BEROWNE. Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue! [_Exit Moth._] ROSALINE. What would these strangers? Know their minds, Boyet. If they do speak our language, ’tis our will That some plain man recount their purposes. Know what they would. BOYET. What would you with the Princess? BEROWNE. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. ROSALINE. What would they, say they? BOYET. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. ROSALINE. Why, that they have, and bid them so be gone. BOYET. She says you have it, and you may be gone. KING. Say to her we have measured many miles To tread a measure with her on this grass. BOYET. They say that they have measured many a mile To tread a measure with you on this grass. ROSALINE. It is not so. Ask them how many inches Is in one mile? If they have measured many, The measure then of one is easily told. BOYET. If to come hither you have measured miles, And many miles, the Princess bids you tell How many inches doth fill up one mile. BEROWNE. Tell her we measure them by weary steps. BOYET. She hears herself. ROSALINE. How many weary steps Of many weary miles you have o’ergone Are numbered in the travel of one mile? BEROWNE. We number nothing that we spend for you. Our duty is so rich, so infinite, That we may do it still without account. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, That we, like savages, may worship it. ROSALINE. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. KING. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine, Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne. ROSALINE. O vain petitioner! Beg a greater matter! Thou now requests but moonshine in the water. KING. Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change. Thou bidd’st me beg; this begging is not strange.