For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. Prin. See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit. O heresy in fair, fit for these days!

A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.-
But come, the bow.--Now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.

Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do 't;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes;

When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart:
As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boy. Do not curst 1 wives hold that self-sove-

reignty

Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be

Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford To any lady that subdues a lord.

Enter COSTARD.

Prin. Here comes a member of the common

wealth.

Cos. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

Shrewish.

SHAK.

2 God give you all good even.

III.

R

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

Cos. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
Prin. The thickest and the tallest.

Cos. The thickest and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, One of these maids' girdles for your waist should

be fit.

Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.

Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will? Cos. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline.

Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of mine:

Stand aside, good bearer.-Boyet, you can carve:
Break up this capon.1

Boy.

I am bound to serve.

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin.
We will read it, I swear:
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

Boy. [reads.] By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The

1 Open this letter.