Th' anointed Sovereign of fighs and groans: Of trotting parators: (O my little heart!) 5 And I to be a corporal of his Field, And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!] This nonsense must be corrected thus, And I to be a corporal of his File, And wear his colours! like a tumbler, stoop! The corporal of a file is a military term. And fo ufed elsewhere by Shakespear. All's well, &c. Great Mars! I put my felf into thy FILE. And to ftoop like a tumbler agrees with the fervile condefcenfions of a lover. But when the transcribers once faw the tumbler, they thought his boop could not be far behind. ACT ACT IV. SCENE I. Enter the Princess, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine, WA PRINCESS. AS that the King that fpurr'd his horse so hard Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he. Prin. Who e'er he was, he fhew'd a mounting mind. Well, lords, to day we shall have our dispatch; Then Forefter, my friend, where is the bush, O fhort-liv❜d pride! not fair? alack, for wo! Prin. Nay, never paint me now; Where fair is not, praife cannot mend the brow. A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. Thus Thus will I fave my credit in the shoot, Skill; That more for praife, than purpose, meant to kill. When for fame's fake, for praife, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart. As I for praise alone now seek to spill 2 The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. Prin. Only for praise; and praise we may afford To any lady, that fubdues her ford. Enter Coftard. Boyet. Here comes a member of the commonwealth. Coft. God dig-you-den all; pray you, which is the head lady? Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads. Coft. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? Coft. The thickeft and the tallest? it is so, truth is 3 An' my waste, mistress, were as flender as your wit, One o' these maids girdles for my waste should be fit. Are 1 When for fame's fake, for praife, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart.] The harmony of the measure, the eafinefs of the expreffion, and the good fenfe in the thought, all concur to recommend thefe two lines to the reader's notice. 2 THAT my heart means no ill.] We fhould read, THO' heart my 3 An' YOUR wafte, miftrefs, were as flender as my wit, And Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here. Prin. What's your will, Sir? what's your will? Coft. I have a letter from Monfieur Biron, to one lady Rofaline. Prin. O thy letter, thy letter: he's a good friend. of mine. Stand afide, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve; Boyet. I am bound to ferve. This letter is miftook, it importeth none here; Prin. We will read it, I fwear. Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. Br heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth it felf, that thou art lovely more fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth it felf; have commiferation on thy heroical vaffal. The magnanimous and most illuftrate King Cophetua fet eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and be it was that might rightly fay, veni, vidi, vici, which to anatomize in the vulgar, (O bafe and obfcure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, faw, and overcame; he came, one; faw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the King. Why did he And was not one of her maid's girdles fit for her? It is plain that my and your have all the way changed places, by fome accident or other; and that the lines fhould be read thus, An' My wafte, mistress, was as fender as YOUR wit, One of thefe maids girdles for my wafle should be fit. The lines are humourous enough, both as reflecting on his own grofs fhape, and her flender wit. 4 -Boyet, you can carve ; Break up this capon.] i. e. open this letter. Our poet ufes this metaphor, as the French do their Poulet; which fignifies both a young fowl, and a love-letter. Poulet, amatoria littera; fays Richelet. Mr. Bishop. come? come? to fee. Why did be fee? to overcome. To whom came be? to the beggar. What faw be? the beggar. Who overcame be? the beggar. The conclufion is victory; on whofe fide? the King's; the captive is inrich'd: on whofe fide? the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whofe fide? the King's? no, on both in one, or one in both: I am the King, (for fo ftands the comparifon) thou the beggar, for fo witneffeth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What fbalt thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? titles: for thy felf? me. Thus expecting thy reply, I prophane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine in the dearest defign of industry, Don Adriano de Armado. Thus doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar 'Gainft thee, thou lamb, that ftandeft as his prey; Submiffive fall his princely feet before, And he from forage will incline to play. But if thou ftrive (poor foul) what art thou then? Food for his rage, repafture for his den. Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited this letter? What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better? Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the ftile. Prin. Elfe your memory is bad, going o'er it ere while. Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in Court, A phantasme, a monarcho, and one that makes sport 5 Thus doft thou hear, &c.] Thefe fix lines appear to be a quotation from fome ridiculous poem of that time. Το |