Coft. I told you; my Lord.

Prin. To whom fhouldst thou give it?
Coft. From my Lord to my Lady.

Prin. From which Lord to which Lady?

Coft. From my Lord Berown, a good mafter of mine, To a Lady of France, that he call'd Rofaline. Prin. Thou haft miftaken his letter. Come, Lords,

away.

Hete, fweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day [Exit Princess attended.

SCENE

-another day.

Prget. Who's the shooter? who is the fhooter?
Rif. Shall I teach you to know?

Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.

Rof. Why, the that beas the bow. Finely put off.
Beget. My Lady goes to kill horns: to: if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if hotns that year mifcarry,

Finely put on.

Ref. Well then, I am the footer.

Poyet. And who is your dee: ?

Ref. If we chufe by horns, youfelf; come not near.

Finely put on, inaced,

Mar. You ftill wrangle with her, Bovet, and she ftrikes at the brow, Poyet. But the herfelf is hit lower. Have it her now?

Ref. Shall I come upon thee with an old faying, that was a man when King Pippin of France was a little box, as touching the hit it?

Beyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as t. uching the hit it.

Rof. Thou can not bit it, lie it, kit it;

Thou canst not bit it, my good man.

Bovet. An' I cannot, capnet, cannot j

An' I canrat, anutker con.

[Singing.

[Exit Ros

CA. By my troth, m ft pleasant; how both did fit it.

Mar. A mark marvell us well hot; for they both did bit it.

Egyet. A mark? O, maik ! that mark ! a mark, fays my Lady;
Let the mark bave a pick in't; to meet at, if it may be.
Mar. Wide o'th how-hand, i'faith, your hand is cut.

Oft. Inderd, a'mult shoot nearer, or he'll re'er hit the cut.
Beyer. An' if my hand be cut, then, belike, your hand is in.
C. Then will the get the upfhot by cleaving the pin.
Bar, Come, come, you talk greafily; your lips grow foul.
Ceff. She's too hard for yen at piks, Sir, challenge her to bowl.
Eye, I fear too much rubbing; good night, my good owl,

[Ftevnt all but Costard,

Goft.

Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Sir Nathaniel.

Nath. Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the teftimony of a good confcience.

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

Nath. Truly, Mafter Holofernes, the epithets are fweetly varied, like a fcholar at the leaft. But, Sir, I affure you it was a buck of the first head.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.

Hol. Moft 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, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or rathereft unconfirmed fashion, to infert again my haud credo for a deer.

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

Hol. Twice fod fimplicity, bis cous; O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed doft 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 intellect is not replenished. He is only an animal, only fenfible in the duller parts; and fuch barren plants are fet before us, that we thanks

Coft. By my foul, a fwain; a moft fimple clown!

Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down!
O' my troth, moft fweet jefts, moft in cony vulgar wit,
When it comes fo fmoothly off, fo obf.enely; as it were, so fit.
Armado o' th' one fide,- -O a most dainty man;

To fee him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan.

To fee him kifs his hand, and how moft fweetly he will fwear;

And his page o't' other fide, that handful of wit:

Ah, heav'ns! it is a most pathetical nit.

P 2

[Exit Coftard. [Shooting within.

fal

ful fhould be for those parts (which we tafte 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 fet on learning, to see him in a fchool.

But omne bene, fay 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; Dictynna, goodman Dull.

Bull. What is Di&ynna ?

Nath. A title to Phoebe, 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 fivefcore.

Th' allufion holds in the exchange.

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

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

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

Nath. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; fo it fhall pleafe you to abrogate fcurrility.

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

The praifeful Princefs pierce'd and prickt
A pretty pleafing pricket;
Some fay, a fore; but not a fore,
Till now made fore with fhooting,
The dogs did yell; put L to fore,
Then forel jumpt from thicket;

Or

Or pricket fore, or else forel,
The people fall a hooting.
If fore be fore, then L to fore
Makes fifty fores of forek
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 him with a talent.

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

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and fo may my parishioners; for their fons 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 inftruction: if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But, vir fapit qui pauca loquitur; a foul feminine faluteth us.

SCENE III. Enter Jaquenetta, and Coftard.

Jaq. God give you good morrow, Mafter Parfon*. Good Malter Parfen, be fo good as read ine this letter; it was given me by Coitard, and fent me from Don Armatho; I beseech you, read it. [Nath.reads to himself. Hal. Faufte, precur, gelida quando pecus omne fub

umbra.

Mafter Parfen.

Hol. Mater Parton, quaji Perfon. And if one should be pierce'd, which is the one

Caft. Marry, Mafter Schoolmaster, he that is likeft to a hogfhead. H. O piercing a hogfead, a good lure of conceit in a turf of earth, fire enough for a fiint, pearl enough for a fwine: 'Tis pretty,

it is well.

Jaq. Good Master, &c.

P 3

Ruminat,

luminat, and fo forth. Ah, good old Mantuan *, I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice; Vinegia, Vinegia! qui non te vedi, ci non te pregia. Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! who underftandeth thee not, loves thee not:-ut re fel la mi fa. Under pardon, Sir, what are the contents? Or rather, as Horace fays in tis: What! my foul! verfes?

Nath. Ay, Sir, and very learned.

Hol. Let me hear a staff, a ftanza, a verfe; Lege, Domine.

Nath. If love makes me forfworn, how fhall I swear to love?

Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty

vow'd;

Tho' to myfelf forfworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; Thofe thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like ofiers

bow'd.

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes;

Where all thofe pleasures live, that art would comprehend:

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee fhall fuffice;

Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend.

All ignorant that foul, that fees thee without won

der:

Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire;

Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful 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 praife with fuch an earthly tongue.

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

He mens Baptifta Spagnolus, furnamed Mantuanus from the place of his birth, a writer of poems, who lived towards the end of the fif teenth century.

and