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S CE N E III.
Enter Armado, and Moth. Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great
spirit grows melancholy? Motb. A great sign, Sir, that he will look fad.
Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-fame thing, dear imp.
Moth. No, no; O lord, Sir, no.
Arm. How can'st thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender Juvenile ?
Moib. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough Signior.
Arm. Why, tough Signior? why, tough Signior?
Moth. Why, tender Juvenile ? why, tender Juvenile?
Arm. I spoke it, tender Juvenile, as a congruent epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.
Moth. And I tough Signior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough.
Arm. Pretty and apt.
my saying apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty?
Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers. Thou heat'st my blood.
Moth. I am answer'd, Sir.
Moth. He speaks the clean contrary, crosses love not him.
Arm, I have promis’d to study three years with the
Moth. You may do it in an hour, Sir.
Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fits the spirit of a
Arm. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a compleat man.
Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.
Arm. It doch amount to one more than two.
Moth. Why, Sir, is this such a piece of study? now here's three studied ere you'll thrice wink; and how easie is it to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing-horse will tell you.
Arm. A most fine figure.
Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love; and, as it is base for a soldier to love, so I am in love with a base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner ; and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devis'd curl'sie. I think it scorn to figh; methinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy; what great men have been in love?
Moth. Hercules, master,
boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.
Motb. Sampson, master; he was a man of good carriage; great carriage ; for he carried the town-gates on his back like a porter, and he was in love.
Arm. O well-knit Sampson, strong-jointed Sampson! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didit me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Sampson's love, my dear Moth?
Moth. A woman, master,
Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.
Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion?
Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampson had small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit.
Moth. It was so, Sir, for she had a green wit,
Moth. Most maculate thoughts, Master, are mask'd under such colours.
Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.
Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, affift me!
Arm. Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty and pathetical! Moth. If she be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known ; For blushing checks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale-white shown; Then if she fear, or be to blame,
By this you shall not know; For still her cheeks possess the same, Which native lhe doth owe.
A dangerous rhime, master, against the reason of white and red.
Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar? Motb. “ The world was guilty of such a ballad
. “ fome three ages fince, but, I think, now 'cis not 66 to be found;" or if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune.
Arm. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digression by some mighty president. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Coftard; she deserves well
Moth. To be whipp’d; and yet a better love than my master s deserves.
Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.
Enter Costard, Dull, Jaquenetta a Maid.
Arm. I do betray my self with blushing: maid,
5 deserves.] added, rightly, by the Oxford Editor.
Jaq. With that face?
Arm. And so farewel.
[ Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offence, ere thou be pardoned.
Coft. Well, Sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach.
Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punish'd.
Cost. I am more bound to you, than your followers; for they are but lightly rewarded.
Arm. Take away this villain, shut him up.
Cost. Let me not be pent up, Sir; I will fast, being loose,
Moth. No, Sir, that were fast and loose; thou Ihalt to prison.
Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall see
Moth. What shall some see?
Coft. Nay, nothing, master Moth, but what they look
upon. It is not for prisoners to be silent in their words, and therefore I will say nothing; I thank God, I have as little patience as another man, and therefore I can be quiet. · [Exeunt Moth and Costard.
Arm. I do affect the very ground (which is base) where her shoe (which is baser) guided by her foot (which is basest) doch tread. I shall be forsworn, which is a great argument of falshood, if I love. And how can that be true love, which is fally attempted ? love is a familiar, love is a devil; there is no evil angel but love, yet Sampson was so tempted, and he had an excellent strength; yet was Solomon so feduced, and he had a very good wit, Cupid's but