_Prin._ We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. _Ros._ They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. That same Biron I’ll torture ere I go: 60 O that I knew he were but in by the 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, 65 And make him proud to make me proud that jests! So perttaunt-like would I o’ersway his state, That he should be my fool, and I his fate. _Prin._ None are so surely caught, when they are catch’d, As wit turn’d fool: folly, in wisdom hatch’d, 70 Hath wisdom’s warrant and the help of school, And wit’s own grace to grace a learned fool. _Ros._ The blood of youth burns not with such excess As gravity’s revolt to wantonness. _Mar._ Folly in fools bears not so strong a note 75 As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; Since all the power thereof it doth apply To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. _Prin._ Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. _Enter_ BOYET. _Boyet._ O, I am stabb’d with laughter! Where’s her Grace? 80 _Prin._ 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; 85 Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. _Prin._ Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.