Imatges de pÓgina
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Cost. I told you; my Lord.
Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it?
Coft. From my Lord to my Lady,
Prin. From which Lord to which Lady ?

Coft. From my Lord Berown, a good maiter of mine,
To a Lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
Prin. Thou hast miliaken his letter. Come, Lords,

away. Hete, sweet, put up this; 't will be thine another day*,

[Exit Princess attended.

SCENE

-another day.
Ppet. Who sibe shoo:e1? who is the fhcoter:
Ris. Shall I :each y: u to know?
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Rof. Whv, so that bea sihe bow. Finelv pilt orf.

Boyet. My Lady goes to kill boris: 10: if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry,
Finely s'ut on.-

RJ. Well then, I am the nooter.
Poget. And who is your dec: ?
Ref

. If we chuse by forrs, yourself; come not neat. Fincly put on,

indeed, Mar. You still wrangle wih her, Bovet, and the trikes at ihe brow, Pryet. But the herseif is hit lower. Hive If it her now?

Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old fajing, that was a man uben King Pippin of France was a little bov, as touching the hit it?

Brget. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a lit:le wcach, as t. uching ibe hitir. Ror. Tlou can' A roi bit it, l'ici, kit it;

Singing. Tlou carifi ne bi: it, my gourd munt.

Boret. An' I crnot, cannt, carn; An I conret, ancıker aime

(Exit Ros CR. By my troth, m: It pleasant; how hnth did fit it. Mar. A mark marve!). us uell nint; for they both rid hit it.

Eoyer. A mark? O, mak ! 0; iha: mark! a mark, says my Lady; Letihe mark bare a pick in't; to meet 21, if it may be.

Mar. Wide o'th how-tard, j'faith, your hand is out. (A. Jide d. a'mut thont nearer, or he'll re'er hit the ch ut. Byet. An' if my hand te cui, ben, telike, your hand is in. 1. Then wili il;e got the upshot by cleaving the pin. Afar, Cime, come. you talk greafily; your lips grow fool. CA. She's 100 hard for cro al piks, Sir, (ballenge her to bovl. lije, I fear too m:ch zablis; gerd tighe, Ty prod owl.

[Fters: all bar Coffard,

Goft. S CE N E II. Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Sir Nathaniel. Nath. Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience.

Hol. The deer was (as you know) Sanguis, in blood; ripe as a pomwater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of crelo, the sky, the welkin, the heav'n; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.

Nath. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least. But, Sir, I assure you it was a buck of the first head.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.

Hol. Moit barbarous intimation; yet a kind of infinuation, as it were in via, in way of explication ; fa-cere, as it were, replication; or rather, oftentare, to show, as it were, his inclination; after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruncd, untrained, or rather unlettered, or rathereft unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.

Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo ; 'twas a pricket.

Hol. Twice fod fimplicity, bis coelus; Othou monster Ignorance, how deformed dot thou look?

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed on the dainties that are bred in a book. He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink. His inteilećt is not replenished. He is only an animal, only fensible in the duller parts; and such barren plants are set before us, that we thanks

Cot. By my soul, a swain ; a molt simple clown!
Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put hiin down!
O my troth,.most sweet jests, most in cony vulgar wit,
When it comes so smoothly off, fu obs:enely; as it were, fo fit.
Armado olh' one side, a most dainiy man;
To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan.
To see him kiís his hand, and how most sweetly he will swear
And his page o'r' other side, that handful of wit:
Ah, bear'ns! it is a molt pathetical nit.

[Exit Coftard.

[Sbcaring wirbin. P 2

fal

ful should be for those parts (which we taste and feel, ingradare) that do fructify in us more than he. For as it would ill become me to be vain, indifcreet,

or a fool; So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a

school. But omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind, Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. Dull. You two are book-men; can you tell by your

wit, What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five

weeks old as yet? Hol. Dictynna, good-man Dull; Dietynna, goodman Dull.

L'ull. What is Dietynna ?
Nath. A title to Phæbe, to Luna, to the Moon.
Hol. The moon was a month old, when Adam was

no more:

And rought not to five weeks, when he came to five

score. Th'allufion holds in the exchange.

Dull. 'Tis true, indeed ; the collufion holds in the exchange.

Hol. God comfort thy capacity! I fay, the allusion holds in the exchange.

Dull. And I say, the pollution holds in the exchange; for the moon is never but a month old; and I say befide that 'twas a pricket that the Princess kill'd.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer; and to humour the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the Princess kill'd, a pricket.

Nath. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it Thall please you to abrogate scurrility.

Hol. I will something affect the letter; for it argues facility.

The praiseful Princess pierced and prickt

A pretty pleasing pricket;
Some say, a fore ; but not a fore,

Till now made fore with jooting,
The dogs did yell; put L to fore,

Then forel jumpt from thicket;

a

a

Or pricket fore, or elle forel,

The people fall a kooting.
If fore before, then L 19 More

Makes fifty fores of foreko
Of one fore I'an hundred make,

By adding but one more L.
Nath. A rare talent!

Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws hiin with a talent.

Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, fimple; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, ihapes, objects, ideas, apprehenfions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourilh'd in the womb of pia mater, and deliver'd upon the mellowing of occasion; but the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutor’d by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you; you are a good member of the commonwealth..

Hol. Mehercle, if their fons be ingenuous, they fhall, want no instruction: if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But, vir fapit qui pauca loquitur; . a soul feininine faluteth us.

SCENE III.- Enter Jaquenetta, and Costard.

Jaq. God give you good morrow, Master Parson*, Good Malter Panion, be to good as read ine this letter; it was given by Coitard, and sent me from Don Armatho; I beleech you, read it. (Nath.reads to himself. Hol. Faufte, precor, gelida yitando pecus cmne fub

umbra.

me

Master Parfon. Hol. M.12 Purion, quaji Purfon. And if one hould be pierce'd, wbicn is the one

Ceft. Marry, Master Sch cimaster, he that is likeft !o a hog head.

Ho!. O piercing a holend, a good lustre of conceit in a turf of earth, fire enough for a fiint, pearl enough for a swine : "Tis pretty, it is weil. Jaq. Good Master, &c.

Ruminat,

P3

luminat, and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan *, I Bay peak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice; Vinegia, l'inegia! qui non te redi, ci non te pregia. Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! who understandcth thee not, Brvis thee not:- ut re folla mi fa. Under pardon, Sir, What ar: the contents? Or rather, as Horace says in lis: What! my soul! verses?

Nah. Ay, Sir, and very learned.

Hol. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse; Lege, Domine. Nath. If love makes ine forfworn, how shall I swear

to love? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty

vow'd; Tho'to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; Thole thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers

bow'd, Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine

eyes; Where all those pleasures live, that art would

comprehend : If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall sufWell learned is that tongue, that well can thee

commend. All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without won

der: Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts ad

mire; Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread

ful thunder; Which, not to anger bent, is mufic, and sweet

fire. Celestial as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong. That fings heav'n's praise with such an earthly

tongue. Hol. You find not the apostrophe's, and fo miss the accent. Let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratify'd ; but for the elegancy, facility,

* He means Baptisia Spagnolus, surnamed Mantvarus from the plare of his birth, a writer of poems, wbo lived towards ibe end of the ffa teenth certury.

and

fice;

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