Imatges de pàgina

Boyet. And wherefore not fhips ?

No fheep, (fweet lamb) unless we feed on your lips.

Mar. You fheep, and I pafture; fhall that finish the jeft? Boyet. So you grant pafture for me.

Mar. Not fo, gentle beast;

My lips are no common, though feveral they be.

Boyet. Belonging to whom?

Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin, Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree. This civil war of wits were much better us'd

On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd. Boyet. If my obfervation, (which very feldom lyes) By the heart's ftill rhetorick, disclosed with

Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what?


Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected.
Prin. Your reason?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the Court of his eye, peeping thorough defire:
His heart, like an agat with your print impreffed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expreffed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not fee,
Did ftumble with hafte in his eye-fight to be:
All fenfes to that fenfe did make their repair,
To feel only looking on faireft of fair;
Methought, all his fenfes were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in cryftal for fome Prince to buy;

Who tendring their own worth, from whence they were glafst,

Did point out to buy them, along as you past.
His face's own margent did quote fuch amazes,
That all eyes faw his eyes inchanted with gazes:
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,

An' you give him for my fake but one loving kifs.
Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is difpos'd-

Boyet. But to fpeak that in words, which his eye hath difclos'd;

I only have made a mouth of his eye,

By adding a tongue which I know will not lye.




Rof. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully.
Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.
Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father
is but grim...

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?
Mar, No.

Boyet. What then, do you fee?


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SCENE the Park; near the Palace.


Enter Armado and Moth.

Arm.Arble, child; make paffionate my fenfe of hearing.

Moth. Concolinel

[Singing. Arm Sweet Air! go, tendernefs of years; take this key, give inlargement to the fwain; bring him festinately hither: I muft employ him in a letter to my love.

Math. Mafter, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How mean'ft thou, brawling in French?

(8) Boyet. You are too hard for me.] Here, in all the Books, the fecond A&t is made to end: but in my Opinion very mistakenly, I have ventur'd to vary the Regulation of the four last Acts from the printed Copies, for thefe Reafons. Hitherto, the fecond A&t has been of the Extent of seven Pages; the third but of five; and the fifth of no less than twenty-nine. And this Difproportion of Length has crouded too many incidents into fome Acts, and left the others quite barren. I have now reduced them into a much better Equality; and diftributed the Bufinefs likewife, (fuch as it is,) into a more uniform Caft.


Moth. No, my compleat mafter (9); but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids; figh a note and fing a note; fometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with finging love; fometimes through the nose, as if you fnuft up love by fmelling love; with your hat penthoufe-like, o'er the fhop of your eyes; with your arms croft on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbet on a fpit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a fnip and away: these are compliments, thefe are humours; thefe betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without thefe, and make the men of note (10): do you note men, that are most affected, to these?

Arm. How haft thou purchas'd this experience?
Moth. By my pen of obfervation.

Arm. But O, but O

Moth. The hobby-horfe is forgot. (11)


9) Moth. No, my compleat Mafter, &c.] This whole Speech has been fo terribly confufed in the Pointing, through all the Editions hitherto, that not the leaft glimmering of Senfe was to be pick'd out of it. As I have regulated the Paffage, I think, Moth delivers both good Senfe and good Humour,

(10) thefe betray nice Wenches, that would be betray'd with out thefe, and make them Men of Note.] Thus all the Editors, with a Sagacity worthy of Wonder. But who will ever believe, that the odd Attitudes and Affectations of Lovers, by which they betray young Wenches, should have power to make those young Wenches Men of Note? This is a Transformation, which, I dare Lay, the Poet never thought of, His Meaning is, that they not only inveigle the young Girl, but make the Men taken notice of too who affect them.

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(11) Arm. But 0, but 0

Moth. The Hobby-horfe is forgot.] The Humour of this Reply of Moth's to Armado, who is fighing in Love, cannot be taken without a little Explanation; nor why there fhould be any room for making fuch a Reply. In the Rites formerly obferv'd for the Celebration of May-day, befides thofe now us'd of hanging

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Arm. Call'st thou my love hobby-horfe?

Moth. No, mafter; the hobby-horfe is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney: but have you forgot your love?

Arm. Almoft I had.

Moth. Negligent ftudent, learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, mafter: all thofe three I will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?


Moth. A man, if I live: And this by, in, and out f, upon the inftant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more; and yet nothing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the fwain, he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A meffage well fympathis'd; a horse to be embaffador for an afs.

Arm. Ha, ha; what fay'ft thou?

Moth. Marry, Sir, you must fend the afs upon the horfe, for he is very flow-gated: but I go.



ing a Pole with Garlands, and dancing round it, a Boy was dreft up reprefenting Maid Marian; another, like a Friar; and another rode on a Hobby-burfe, with Bells jingling, and painted Streamers. After the Reformation took place, and Precifians multiplied, thefe latter Rites were look'd upon to favour of Paganism; and then Maid Marian, the Friar, and the poor Hobby borje were turn'd out of the Games. Some, who were not fo wifely precife, but re. gretted the Difufe of the Hobby-borfe, no doubt, fatiriz'd this Sufpicion of Idola ry, and archly wrote the Epitaph above alluded to. Now Moth, hearing Armado groan ridiculously, and cry out, But oh! but ob! -humorously pieces out his Exclamation with the Sequel of this Epitaph: which is putting his Master's LovePassion, and the Lofs of the Hobby-borse, on a Footing.


Arm. The way is but fhort; away.

Moth. As fwift as lead, Sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?

Is not lead a metal heavy, dull and flow?

Moth. Minimè, honest master; or rather, mafter, no. Arm. I fay, lead is flow.

Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to fay fo.

Is that lead flow, Sir, which is fir'd from a gun?
Arm. Sweet fimoak of rhetorick!

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
I fhoot thee at the fwain.

Meth. Thump then, and I fly.

[Exit. Arm. A molt acute Juvenile, voluble and free of grace ;. By thy favour, fweet welkin, I muft high in thy face, Mot rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is return'd.

Re-enter Moth and Collard.

Moth. A wonder, mafter, here's a Coftard broken in a fhin.

Arm. Some enigma, fome riddle; come, thy l'envoy begin. Caft. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no falve in the male, Sir. O Sir, plantan, a plain plantan; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, or falve, Sir, but plantan.

Arm. By virtue, thou enforceft laughter; thy filly thought, my fpleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous fmiling: O pardon me, my ftars! doth the inconfiderate take falve for l'envy, and the word l'envoy for a falve?

Moth. Doth the wife think them other? is not l'envoy a falve?

Arm. No, page, it is an epilogue or difcourfe, to make plain

Some obfcure precedence that hath tofore been fain.
I will example it. Now will I begin your moral, and
do you follow with my Penvoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were ftill at odds, being but three.
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