And many miles, the Princess bids you tell
How many inches doth fill up one mile.

BEROWNE.
Tell her we measure them by weary steps.

BOYET.
She hears herself.

ROSALINE.
How many weary steps
Of many weary miles you have o'ergone
Are number'd in the travel of one mile?

BEROWNE.
We number nothing that we spend for you;
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
That we, like savages, may worship it.

ROSALINE.
My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

KING.
Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do!
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,
Those clouds remov'd, upon our watery eyne.

ROSALINE.