_Prin._ Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, If fairings come thus plentifully in: A lady wall’d about with diamonds! Look you what I have from the loving king. _Ros._ Madam, came nothing else along with that? 5 _Prin._ Nothing but this! yes, as much love in rhyme As would be cramm’d up in a sheet of paper, Writ o’ both sides the leaf, margent and all, That he was fain to seal on Cupid’s name. _Ros._ That was the way to make his godhead wax, 10 For he hath been five thousand years a boy. _Kath._ Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. _Ros._ You’ll ne’er be friends with him; a’ kill’d your sister. _Kath._ He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; And so she died: had she been light, like you, 15 Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, She might ha’ been a grandam ere she died: And so may you; for a light heart lives long. _Ros._ What’s your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word? _Kath._ A light condition in a beauty dark. 20 _Ros._ We need more light to find your meaning out. _Kath._ You’ll mar the light by taking it in snuff; Therefore I’ll darkly end the argument. _Ros._ Look, what you do, you do it still i’ th’ dark. _Kath._ So do not you, for you are a light wench. 25 _Ros._ Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore light. _Kath._ You weigh me not?—O, that’s you care not for me. _Ros._ Great reason; for ‘past cure is still past care.’ _Prin._ Well bandied both; a set of wit well play’d. But, Rosaline, you have a favour too: 30 Who sent it? and what is it? _Ros._ 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 Biron: The numbers true; and, were the numbering too, 35 I were the fairest goddess on the ground: I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter! _Prin._ Any thing like? _Ros._ Much in the letters; nothing in the praise. 40 _Prin._ Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion. _Kath._ Fair as a text B in a copy-book. _Ros._ ’Ware pencils, ho! let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter: O that your face were not so full of O’s! 45 _Kath._ A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows. _Prin._ But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumain? _Kath._ Madam, this glove. _Prin._ Did he not send you twain? _Kath._ Yes, madam, and, moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover, 50 A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compiled, profound simplicity. _Mar._ This and these pearls to me sent Longaville: The letter is too long by half a mile. _Prin._ I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart 55 The chain were longer and the letter short? _Mar._ Ay, or I would these hands might never part.