Imatges de pàgina

bear this fignificant to the country-maid Jaquenetta; there is remuneration ; for the best ward of mine honours is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.

[Exit. Moth. Like the fequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu !

[Exit. Coft. My sweet ounce of man's flesh, my in-cony jewel ! Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration ! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings ! three farthings, remuneration. What's the price of this incle ? a penny. No, I'll give you a remuneration : why, it carries it. Remuneration ! why, it is a fairer name than a French crown. I will never buy and fell out of this word.

S CE N E III. Enter Biron. Biron. O my good knave Coftard, exceedingly well met.

Coft. Pray you, Sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration ?

Biron. What is a remuneration ?
Coft. Marry, Sir, half-penny farthing.
Biron. O, why then three farthings worth of filk.
Coft. I thank your Worship, God be with you.

Biron. O stay, flave, I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, my good knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall intreat.

Cost. When would you have it done, Sir?
Biron. O, this afternoon.
Coft. Well, I will do it, Sir: fare you well.
Biron. O, thou knoweft not what it is.
Coft. I shall know, Sir, when I have done it.
Biron. Why, villain, thou must know firit.

Coft. Till there be more matter in the shin.
Arm, Sirrah, Collard, I will infranchise thee.
Cost: 0, marry me to one Francis; I smell fome l'envoy, fome
goose in this.

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at liberty; enfrees
doming thy person; thou wert immur'd, reftrained, captivated,

. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me loose, Arm. I give, &c.

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Coft. I will come to your Worship to-morrow morning.

Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this : The Princess comes to hunt here in the park: And in her train there is a gentle lady ; When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, And Rosaline they call her; ask for her, And to her sweet hand see thou do commend This feald-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go.

Coft. Guerdon, Osweet guerdon ! better than remuneration, elevenpence farthing better : most sweet guerdon! I will do it, Sir, in print. Guerdon, remuneration.

[Exit. Biron. O! and I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip; А

very beadle to a humorous sigh : A critic; nay, a night-watch constable ; A domineering pedant o'er the boy, Than whom no mortal more magnificent. This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, This Signior Junio's giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid, Regent of love-rhimes, lord of folded arms, Th' anointed fovereign of fighs and groans : Liege of all loiterers and malecontents: Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces : Sole imperator, and great general Of trotting parators : (O my little heart!) And I to be a corporal of his file, And wear his colours ! like a tumbler, stoop! What? I love ! I fue ! I feek a wife ! A woman, that is like a German clock, Still a repairing ; ever out of frame, And never going aright, being a watch, But being watch'd, that it may still go right! Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all : And, among three, to love the worst of all; A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes ; Ay, and by Heav'n, one that will do the deed, Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard ; And I to figh for her ! to watch for her! To pray for her ! go to : it is a plague,


That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty, dreadful, little, might.
Well, I will love, write, figh, pray, lue, and grone:
Some men must love my Lady, and some Joan. [Exit.







A pavilion in the park near the palace. Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Catharine, Lords,

attendants, and a Forefter. Prin. A S that the King that spurr'd his horse

so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill ? Boyet. I know not; but I think it was not he.

Prin. Whoe'er he was, he shew'd a mounting mind. Well, Lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch; On Saturday we will return to France. Then, Forester, my friend, where is the bush, That we must stand and play the murderer in ?

For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice; A stand, where you may make the faireit shoot *.



the faireft shoot. Prin. I thank my beanty, I am fair, that shoot : And thereupon thou speak'at the fairert Thoot.

For, Pardon me, Madam ; for I meant not fo.

Prin. What, what? first praise me, then again say, no? O short-liv'd pride ! not fair ? alack, 'for wo!

For. Yes, Madam, fair,

Prin. Nay, never paint me now;
Where fair is not, praile cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true;
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresy in fair, fit for these days !
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
But come, the bow ; now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the mout,
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't:
If wounding, then it was to thew my skill;
That more for praise, chan purpose, meaot to kill,



Boyet. Here comes a member of the commonwealtht. Cojt. I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one

Lady Rosaline. Prin. Othy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend

of mine, Stand aside, good bearer. -Boyet, you can carve : Break


Boyet. I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin. We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

Boyet reads.

Br heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible ; true,

that thou art beauteous ; truth itself, that thou art lovely; more fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself; have commiferation on thy heroical


And, out of question, so it is sometimes ;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes;
When for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart.
As I for praise alone now seek to spill
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.

Boyet. Do not curs’d wives hold that self-sovereignty
Only for praise-sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praise ; and praise we may afford
To any lady that subdues her lord.

Enter Costard. Boyet. Here comes, &c. +

Cuft. 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.
Coji. Which is the greatest lady, the bighet ?
Prin. The thicket and the tallest,

Coft. The thickest and the tallest; it is so, truth is truih.
An' my waste, mistress, were as filander as your wit,
One o' these maids girdles for my waist should be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here,

Prin. What's your will, Sir! what's your will!
Coft, I have, &c.

* Meaning the letter, as poulet in French fignifies both a chicken and a love-letter, 2

valad. vafal. The magnanimous and most i!!ulrate King Cophetila sat eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that inight rightly say, Veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize in the vulgar, (o base and obfcure vulgar!), videlicet, He came, saw, and overcame : he came, one ; faw, two; overcanie, three. Who came? the King. Why did he come? to fee. Wly did he see? to overcome. To whom came he ? to the beggar. What saw he ? the beggar. Who overcame he? the beggar. The conclufion is viétory: on whole fide ? the King's; the captive is inrich’d: on whore side the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose side? the King's: no, on both in oné, or one in bath. I am the King, (for so stands the comparison); thou the beggar, for Yo witneseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I

niay'. Shall I inforce thy love? I could. Shall I intreat thy love? I will. IVhat malt thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? titles: for thyself ? me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on the picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine in the dearest design of industry,

Don Adriano de Armado. Thus dolt thou hear the Nemean lion roar

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standelt as his prey; Submissive fall his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play. But if thou strive, (poor soul), what art thou then? Food for his rage, repasture 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 style. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere

while. Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here

in court, A phantafm, a monarcho, and one that makes sport To the Prince, and his book-mates.

Prin. Thou, fellow, a word:
Who gave thee this letter ?
Vol. II.



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