Imatges de pàgina

Dum. Sir, I pray you a word: what lady is that same? Boyet. The heir of Alanson, Rofaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady ; Monsieur, fare you well.

[Exit. Long. I beseech you a word: what is she in whitet? Boyet. She is an heir of Faulconbridge I. Long. She is a most sweet lady. Boyet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be l. [Exit Long.



Rof. Alack, let it blood.
Eiron. Would tha: do it good ?
Rif. My physic says, Ay.
Biron. Will you prick’t with your eye?


knife. Biron. Now, God save thy life! Rol. And your’s from long living ! birun. I cannot stay thanksgiving. Dum. Sir, &c.

Ref. No, poynt,


she in white ? Boyet. A woman sometimes, if you saw her in the light. Long. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name, Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame. Lunj. Pray you, Sir, whose daughter? Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. Lng. Gcd's blessing on your beard ! Boyet. Good Sir, be not offended.

'She is an, &c.

·Faviconbridge. Long. Nay, my choller is ended :

She is, &c.

ne that may be. Biron. What's her name in the cap ? Boyet. Ca barine, by good hap. Biron. Is the wedded, or no? Boyet. To her will, Sir, or so. Biron. You are welcome, Sir: adieu ! Boyet. Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you. [Exit. Biron.

Mar. That laft is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord;
Not a word with him but a jest.

Boyet. And every jest but a word.
Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word,
Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.
Mar, Two hot Theeps, marry.

Boyet, And wherefore not ships ?
No sheep, (fweet lamb), unless we feed on your lips.
Mar. You sheep, and I pasture ; shall that finish the jest?


If my observation, (which very feldom lyes),
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected *.
Rof. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakeit

skilfully. Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news

of him. Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her fa.

ther is but grim.
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ?
Mar. No.
Boyet. What then? do you see?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

Mar. Not so, gentle beast;
My lips are no common, though several they be.

Buyet. Belonging to whom?
Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree,
This civil war of wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abu:'d.
If my observation, &c.

is infected.
Prin. With what?
Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected.

> Prin. Your reason?

Buget. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough defire : His heart, like an agat with your print impreffed, Proud with his form, in his eye pride exprefled, His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, Did Numble with hafte in his eye fight to be : Al senses to ihat senfi did make their repair, To fe: I only looking og faireit of fair; Metbought all his sents were lock'd in his eyes As jewels in cryital for some prince to buy ; Who tend'ring their owiworti, from whence they were glass'd, Did point out to buy them, along as yoi. pass’d. His faces' own margent did quo'e uh apazes, That all eyes faw his eyes inchanted wingizisi I'll give you Aquiiai and all thut is his, An' you give him for my fake but one lovi: kiss.

Prin. Come, 10 our pavil.on: Boye' is dil pos'd.

Boyet. But to speak that in werds which is eye hath disclos'd ;I only hae made a mouth of his eye, By aoding a tongue which I know will noi lye, RS. Thou art, &c,


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Rof. Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet. You are too hard for me.

[Exeunt. A C Τ ΙΙΙ. . SCENE I.


The park, near the palace.

Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. Arble, child; make passionate my sense of

hearing. Moth. Concolinel

[Singing Arm. Sweet air ! go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain; bring him festinately hither: Imust employ him in a letter to my love.

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How mean'st thou, brawling in French ?

Moth. No, my compleat Master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; figh a note and fing a note; sometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love; sometimes through the nose, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love; with your hat 'penthouse like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms cross'd on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbet on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip, and away: these are 'complishments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without these, and make them men of note (do you note me?) that are most affected to these ?

Arm. How halt thou purchas'd this experience ?
Moth. By my pen of observation.
Arm. But O, but O
Moth. The hobby-horse is forgot*.

Arm. Call it thou my love hobby-horse? . Moth. No, Master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney: but have you forgot your love ?

Arin. Almost I had.

The burthen of an old song.

Moth. joy her.

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, Master: all those three I will

prove. Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live: and this by in, and out of, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her ; in heart you love her, because your

heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot en

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more; and yet no, thing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain, he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A meffage well sympathiz'd; a horse to be embassador for an ass.

Arm. Ha, ha, what say'st thou ?
Moth. Marry, Sir, you must send the ass upon

the horse, for he is very slow-gated : but I go.

Arm. The way is but short; away.
Moth. As swift as lead, Sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Is not lead of metal heavy, dull, and slow?

Moth. Minimè, honest Master; or rather, Master, no.
Arm. I say, lead is flow.

Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
Is that lead slow, Sir, which is fir’d from a gun?

Arm. Sweet smoak of rhetoric !
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
I shoot thee at the swain.
Moth. Thump then, and I fly.

[Exit. Arm. A most acutejuvenile,voluble, and free of grace; By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must figh in thy face. Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is return'd.


Re-enter Moth and Costard *.

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this :


and Costard. Moth. A wonder, Master; here's a Costard broken in a thin. Arm. Some enigma, fome riddle; come, thy l'envoy begin.

Coft. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no laive in the male, Sir. O Sir, plantan, a plain plantan; no l'enviy, no l'envoy, or salve, Sir, but plantan.

Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy filly thought, my Spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling; O pardon me, my stars! doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy, and the word l'envoy for a salve ?

Mob. Doth the wise think them other ? is not l'envoy a salve ?

Arm. No, page, it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow

with my l'envoy.
The fox, the ape, and the humble bee,
Were still at odds, being bu: three.
There's the moral, now the l'envoy.

Morb. I will add the l'envoy; say the moral again.

Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble bee,
Were ftill at odds, being but three.

Moth. Until the goose came out of door,
And ftay'd the odds by adding four.
A good l'enroy, ending in the gnose ; would you desire more

Coft. The boy hath fold him a bargain ; a goose, that's fat;
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an' your goose be fat.
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose.
Let me tee a fat l'enroy; I, that's a fat gouse.

Arm. Come hither, come hither;
How did this argument begin?

Moth. By saying, that a Custard was broken in a fin.
Then call'd you for a l'envoy.

Coft True, and I for a plantan;
Thus came the argument in ;
Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought,
And he ended he market.

firm. But tell me, how was there a Costard broken in a shin?
Mob I will tell you sensibly.

Coft. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth.
I will speak that l'envoy
Coftard running out, that was fafely within,
Fell over the threshold, and broke my fin.

Arm. We will talk no more of this matter,

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