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 Coftard, adieu ! [Exit. Coft. My fweet 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.

SCENE III.

Enter Biron.

Biron. O my good knave Costard, 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 Worfhip, God be with you.
Biron. O ftay, flave, I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, my good knave,
Do one thing for me that I fhall intreat.
Coft. When would you have it done, Sir?
Biron. O, this afternoon.

Coft. Well, I will do it, Sir: fare you well.
Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is.
Coft. I fhall know, Sir, when I have done it.
Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first.

Coft. Till there be more matter in the shin.

Arm. Sirrah, Coftard, I will infranchife thee.

Coft. O, marry me to one Francis; I fmell fome l'envoy, fome goofe in this.

Arm. By my fweet fou!, I mean, fetting thee at liberty; enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immur'd, reftrained, captivated,

bound.

Ceft. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me loofe.

Arm. I give, &c.

Coft

Coft.I will come to your Worship to-morrow morning. Biron. It must be done this afternoon.

Hark, flave, it is but this:

The Princefs comes to hunt here in the park:
And in her train there is a gentle lady;

When tongues fpeak fweetly, then they name her name,
And Rofaline they call her; afk for her,

And to her fweet hand fee thou do commend

This feal'd-up counfel. There's thy guerdon; go.

Coft. Guerdon, O fweet guerdon ! better than remuneration, elevenpence farthing better: most fweet guerdon! I will do it, Sir, in print. Guerdon, remuneration.[Exit.

Biron. O and I, forfooth, in love!
I, that have been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous figh:

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, ftoop!
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 ftill 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 ftuck 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!
Το pray for her! go to :—it is a plague,

That

That Cupid will impofe for my neglect

Of his almighty, dreadful, little, might.

Well, I will love, write, figh, pray, fue, and grone: Some men must love my Lady, and fome Joan. [Exit.

A ст IV.

SCENE

A pavilion in the park near the palace.

I.

Enter the Princess, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine, Lords, attendants, and a Forefter.

Prin.

AS that the King that fpurr'd his horfe fo hard

WA

Against the steep uprifing of the hill?

Boyet. I know not; but I think it was not he.
Prin. Whoe'er he was, he fhew'd a mounting mind.
Well, Lords, to-day we fhall have our dispatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.

Then, Forester, my friend, where is the bufh,
That we must stand and play the murderer in ?

For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A ftand, where you may make the fairest shoot *.
Boyet.

the fairest shoot.

Prin. I thank my beanty, I am fair, that shoot:
And thereupon thou fpeak ft the fairest shoot.
For. Pardon me, Madam; for I meant not fo.

Prin. What, what? first praife me, then again fay, no?
O fhort-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, fee, my beauty will be fav'd by merit.
O herefy in fair, fit for these days!

A giving hand, though foul, fhall have fair praise.
But come, the bow; now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I fave my credit in the shoot,
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't:
If wounding, then it was to fhew my skill;

That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill,

And,

Boyet. Here comes a member of the commonwealth†. 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.

Break up this capon *.

Boyet. I am bound to ferve.

-Boyet, you can carve :

This letter is miftook, it importeth none here;

It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin. We will read it, I fwear.

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

Boyet reads.

BY 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, fo it is sometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detefted crimes;

When for fame's fake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart.

As I for praife alone now seek to spill

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.

Byet. Do not curs'd wives hold that self-sovereignty

Only for praife-fake, when they strive to be

Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praife; and praife we may afford To any lady that fubdues her lord.

Ceft. God dig you den all; pray you, which is the head lady? Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the reft that have no heads. Coft. Which is the greatest lady, the higheft?

Prin. The thickest and the tallest.

Coft. The thickeft and the talleft; it is fo, truth is truth.

An' my wafte, miftrefs, were as flander as your wit,

One o' these maids girdles for my waift 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.

vafal. The magnanimous and moft 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, (0 base and obfcure vulgar!), videlicet, He came, faw, and overcame he came, one; faw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the King. Why did he come? to fee. Why did he fee? to overcome. To whom came he? to the beggar. What far he? the beggar. Who overcame he? 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 comparison); thou the beggar, for fo witneeth thy lowlinefs. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I inforce thy love? I could. Shall I intreat thy love? I will. What shalt 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 thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine in the deareft defign of industry,

Don Adriano de Armado.

Thus doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his
Submiffive fall his princely feet before,

prey;

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 flyle. Prin. Elle 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 fport To the Prince, and his book-mates.

Prin. Thou, fellow, a word:

Who gave thee this letter?

Coft.