Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn, in will and error.
Much upon this it is: and might not you
[To BOYET]
Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squier,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our page out: go, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye
Wounds like a leaden sword.
BOYET Full merrily
Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
BIRON Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! I have done.
[Enter COSTARD]
Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.
COSTARD O Lord, sir, they would know
Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no.
BIRON What, are there but three?
COSTARD No, sir; but it is vara fine,
For every one pursents three.
BIRON And three times thrice is nine.
COSTARD Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope it is not so.
You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir we know
what we know:
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,--
BIRON Is not nine.
COSTARD Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.
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