in one, or one in
both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison:
thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy lowliness.
Shall I command thy love? I may: shall I enforce
thy love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? I
will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes;
for tittles? titles; for thyself? me. Thus,
expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot,
my eyes on thy picture. and my heart on thy every
part. Thine, in the dearest design of industry,
Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey.
Submissive fall his princely feet before,
And he from forage will incline to play:
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?
What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?
I am much deceived but I remember the style.
Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile.
This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;
A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the prince and his bookmates.
Thou fellow, a word:
Who gave thee this letter?
I told you; my lord.
To whom shouldst thou give it?
From my lord to my lady.
From which lord to which lady?
From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline.
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.
Here, sweet, put up this: 'twill be thine another day.
Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?
Shall I teach you to know?
Ay, my continent of beauty.
Why, she that bears the bow.
Finely put off!
My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on!
Well, then, I am the shooter.
And who is your deer?
If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
Finely put on, indeed!
You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes
at the brow.
But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?
Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was
a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as
touching the hit it?
So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a
woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little
wench, as touching the hit it.
Thou canst not