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Long. I muft rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.
Dum. Ay, and Hector's a grey-hound.
Arm. The fweet War-man is dead and rotten;
Sweet Royalty, bestow on me the fenfe of hearing.
Dum. He may not, by the yard.
Arm. This Hector far furmounted Hannibal. Coft. The Party is gone, fellow Hector, fhe is gone ; she is two months on her way.
Arm. What mean't thou?
Coft. Faith, unless you play the honeft Trojan, the poor wench is caft away; fhe's quick, the child brags in her belly already. 'Tis yours.
Arm. Doft thou infamonize me Thou shalt die.
mong Potentates ?
Coft. Then fhall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta, that is quick by him; and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by him.
Dum. Moft rare Pompey!
Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the huge!
Dum. Hector trembles.
Biron. Pompey is mov'd; more Ates, more Ates; stir them on, ftir them on.
Dum. Hector will challenge him.
Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will fup a flea.
Arm. By the north-pole, I do challenge thee.
Coft. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man : I'll flash; I'll do't by the Sword: I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.
Dum. Room for the incenfed Worthies.
Coft. I'll do't in my shirt.
Dum. Most refolute Pompey!
Moth. Mafter, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do ye not fee, Pompey is uncafing for the combat: what mean you? you will lofe your reputation.
Arm. Gentlemen, and foldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.
Dum. You may not deny it, Pompey, hath made the challenge.
Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Biron. What reason have you for't? Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no fhirt; I go woolward for penance.
Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linnen; fince when, I'll be fworn, he wore none but a difh-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a Favour.
Mac. God fave you, Madam!
Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interruptest our merriment.
Mac. I'm forry, Madam; for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father Prin. Dead, for my life.
Mac. Even fo: my Tale is told.
Biron. Worthies, away; the Scene begins to cloud. Arm. For my own part, I breathe free breath; I have feen the day of wrong through the little hole of difcretion, and I will right my felf like a foldier. [Exeunt Worthies.
King. How fares your Majefty? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to night. King. Madam, not fo; I do befeech you, stay. Prin. Prepare, I fay. I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, Out of a new-fad foul, that you vouchfafe In your rich wifdom to excufe, or hide, The liberal oppofition of our spirits; If over-boldly we have borne our felves In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord;
An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue: (38)
King. The extreme part of time extremely forms
The holy fuit which fain it would convince;
From what it purpos'd: Since, to wail friends loft,
Prin. I understand you not, my griefs are double.
(38) An heavy heart bears not an humble Tongue.] Thus all the Editions; but, furely, without either Senfe or Truth. None are more humble in Speech, than they who labour under any Oppreffion. The Princess is defiring, her Grief may apologize for her not expreffing her Obligations at large; and my Correction is conformable to that Sentiment. Befides, there is an Antithefis between heavy and nimble; but between heavy and humble, there is none,
Have misbecom❜d our oaths and gravities;
Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Dum. Our letters, Madam, fhew'd much more than
Long. So did our looks.
Rof. We did not coat them fo.
King. Now at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves.
Prin. A time, methinks, too fhort,
To make a world-without-end bargain in ;
Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deserts ;
For the remembrance of my father's death.
King. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up thefe powers of mine with reft;
Rof. You must be purged too, your fins are rank,
Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? Cath. A wife! - a beard, fair health and honesty; With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
Dum. O, fhall I fay, I thank you, gentle wife?
(39) Biron. [And what to me, my Love ? and what to me?
A Twelvemonth shall you spend, and never reft,
Thefe fix Verfes both Dr. Thirlby and Mr. Warburton concur to think should be expung'd; and therefore I have put them between Crotchets: Not that they were an Interpolation, but as the Author's first Draught, which he afterwards rejected; and executed the fame Thought a little lower with much more Spirit and Elegance. Shakespeare is not to answer for the prefent abfurd repetition, but his A&tor-Editors; who, thinking Rosalind's Speech too long in the second Plan, had abridg’d it to the Lines above quoted : but, in publishing the Play, ftupidly printed both the Original Speech of Shakespeare, and their own Abridgment of it.