yourselves: what buys your company? Your absence only. That can never be. Then cannot we be bought: and so, adieu; Twice to your visor, and half once to you. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. In private, then. I am best pleased with that. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three. Nay then, two treys, and if you grow so nice, Metheglin, wort, and malmsey: well run, dice! There's half-a-dozen sweets. Seventh sweet, adieu: Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. One word in secret. Let it not be sweet. Thou grievest my gall. Gall! bitter. Therefore meet. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? Name it. Fair lady,-- Say you so? Fair lord,-- Take that for your fair lady. Please it you, As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. What, was your vizard made without a tongue? I know the reason, lady, why you ask. O for your reason! quickly, sir; I long. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my speechless vizard half. Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf? A calf, fair lady! No, a fair lord calf. Let's part the word. No, I'll not be your half Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. One word in private with you, ere I die. Bleat softly then; the butcher hears you cry. 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. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits. Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! Will they not, think you, hang themselves tonight? Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces? This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. O, they were all in lamentable cases! The