Imatges de pÓgina

King. Ay; the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to this?

Colt. Sir, I confess the wench.
King. Did you hear the proclamation?

Coft. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it.

King. It was proclaim'd a year's imprisonment to be taken with a wench,

Coft. I was taken with none, Sir, I was taken with a damosel.

King. Well, it was proclaimed damosel.

Cost. This was no damosel neither, Sir, she was a virgin.

King. It is so varied too, for it was proclaim'd virgin.

Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with a maid.

King. This maid will not ferve your turn, Sir.
Coft. This maid will serve my turn, Sir.

King. Sir, I will pronounce sentence; you shall fast a week with bran and water.

Coft. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.

King. And Don Armado fhall be your keeper. My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er. And go we, lords, to put in practice that, Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.

Exeunt. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,

These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. Sirrah, come on.

Coft. I suffer for the truth, Sir: for true it is, I was. taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl ; and therefore welcome the four cup of prosperity: affliction may one day sinile again, and until then, sit thee down, forrow.




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Enter Armado, and Moth. Arm. OY, what sign is it, when a man of great

spirit grows melancholy ? Moth. A great sign, Sir, that he will look fad.

Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-fame thing, dear imp':

Moth. No, no; O lord, Sir, no.

Arm. How can'lt thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender Juvenile ?

Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough Signior.

Arm. Why, tough Signior? why, tough Signior?

Moth. Why, tender Juvenile? why, tender Juvenile?

Arm. I spoke it, tender Juvenile, as a congruent epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I, tough Signior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough.

Arm. Pretty and apt.

Moth. How mean you, Sir, I pretty, and my fay. ing apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty?

Arm. Thou pretty, because little.
Moth. Little! pretty, because little ; wherefore apt?
Arm. And therefore

apt, because quick. Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master ? Arm. In thy condign praise.

dear Imp.] Imp was or abhorrence ; perhaps in our anciently a term of dignity. Lord authour's time it was ambiguous, Cromwel in his last letter to Hen- in which state it suits well with ry VIII. prays for the imp his fon. this dialogue. It is now used only in contempt


Moth. I will praise an eel with the fame praise.
Arm. What? that an eel is ingenious.
Moth. That an eel is quick.

Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers. Thou heat'st my blood

Moth. I am answer'd, Sir.
Arm. I love not to be croft.

Moth. He speaks the clean contrary, crolles love not him?

Arm. I have promis'd to study three years with the King.

Moth. You may do it in an hour, Sir.
Arm. Impoflible.
Moth. How many is one thrice told?

Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fits the spirit of a tapiter. Moth. You are a gentleman and a gamester.

Arm. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a compleat man.

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of duce-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. Which the base vulgar call, three.
Arm. True.

Moth. Why, Sir, is this such a piece of study? now here's three studied ere you'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing-horse will tell you.

Arm. A most fine figure.
Moth. To prove you a cypher.

Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love; and, as it is base for a soldier to love, so I am in love with a base wènch. If drawing my sword against the hu

croffes love not him.] to Celia, if I should bear , By crafies he means money. So fould bear no cross, in As soa like it, the Clown fays


Who was

mour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner; and ran. fom him to any French courtier for a new-devis'd curi’sy. I think it scorn to figh; methinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy; what great men have been in love?

Moth. Hercules, master.

Arni. Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.

Moth. Sampson, malter; he was a man of good carriage; great carriage; for he carried the town-gates on his back like a porter, and he was in love.

Arm. O well-knit Sampson, strong-jointed Sampson.
I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst
me in carrying gates. I am in love too.
Sampson's love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, master.
Arm. Of what complexion?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion?
Moth. Of the sea-water green,

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions ?
Moth. As I have read, Sir, and the best of them too.

Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampson had small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit.

Moth. It was fo, Sir, for she had a green wit.
Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red.

Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are malk'd under such colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.

Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, aflift me!

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty and pathetical!

Moth. Moth. If she be made of white and red,

Her faults will ne'er be known; For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,

And fears by pale-white shown ; Then if the fear, or be to blame,

By this you shall not know; For still her cheeks possess the same,

Which native the doch owe. A dangerous rhime, master, against the reason of white and red.

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?

Moth. The world was guilty of such a ballad some three ages fince, but, I think, now 'is not to be found; or if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have that subject newly writ o’er, that I may example my digrellion by some mighty preces dent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Cjlard; die deserves well

Moth. To be whipp'd ; and yet a better love than my master.

Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.

Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light Wench.

Arm. I say, sing.
Moth. Forbear, 'till this company is past.


Enter Costard, Dull, Jaquenetta a Maid. Dul, Sir, the King's pleasure is, that you keep Coftard safe, and you mult let him take no delight, nor no penance; but he must fast three days a-week. For this damsel

, I must keep her at the park, she is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well.


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