His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes:
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd-
Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye
hath disclos'd:

I only have made a mouth of his eye,

By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.

Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st skilfully.

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.

Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?

Enter ARMADO and MOTн.

Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense

of hearing.

Moth. Concolinel- 7

[Singing. Arm. Sweet air!-Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must employ him in a letter to my love.

7 Concolinel Here is apparently a song lost in the old comedies, the songs are frequently omitted.

festinately hither;] i. e. hastily.

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?9

Arm. How mean'st thou? brawling in French?

Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet,' humour it with turning up your eye-lids; sigh a note, and sing a note; sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love; sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouselike, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away: These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches-that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of note, (do you note, men?) that most are affected to these.

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience? Moth. By my penny of observation.2

Arm. But O,-but 0,

Moth. the hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse?

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

Arm. Almost I had.

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

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three

I will prove.

9

—— a French brawl?] A brawl is a kind of dance, perhaps what we now call a cotillon.

1

canary to it with your feet,] Canary was the name of a spritely nimble dance.

2 By my penny of observation.] The old piece, called a Penniworth of Wit.

allusion is to the famous

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: 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 swain; he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A message well sympathised; a horse to be embassador for an ass!

Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited: But I go. Arm. The way is but short; away.

Moth. As swift as lead, sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?

Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

Moth. Minimè, honest master; or rather, master,

no.

Arm. I say, lead is slow.

Moth.

You are too swift, sir, to say so:

Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?

Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetorick!

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:

I shoot thee at the swain.

Moth.

Thump then, and I flee.

[Exit.

Arm. A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of

grace!

By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy

face:

Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd.

Re-enter MoTH and CoSTARD.

Moth. A wonder, master; here's a Costard broken 3 in a shin.

Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come,-thy l'envoy;-begin.

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir:5 O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain!

Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for T'envoy, and the word, l'envoy, for a salve?

Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve?

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

Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it:

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

There's the moral: Now the l'envoy.

Moth. I will add the l'envoy: Say the moral again.
Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three:
Moth. Until the goose came out of door,
And stay'd the odds by adding four.

3 -here's a Costard broken] i. e. a head.

4 l'envoy;] The l'envoy is a term borrowed from the old French poetry. It appeared always at the head of a few concluding verses to each piece, which either served to convey the moral, or to address the poem to some particular person. It was frequently adopted by the ancient English writers.

no salve in the mail, sir:] What this can mean, is not easily discovered: if mail for a packet or bag was a word then in use, no salve in the mail may mean, no salve in the mountebank's budget. Or, perhaps we should read-no salve in them all, sir.

Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three: Arm. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four.

Moth. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; Would you desire more?

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat:

Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be

fat.

To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and

loose:

Let me see a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose. Arm. Come hither, come hither: How did this argument begin?

Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.

Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

Cost. True, and I for a plantain; Thus came your argument in ;

Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;

And he ended the market.

Arm. But tell me; how was there a Costard broken in a shin?

Moth. I will tell you sensibly.

Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that l'envoy.

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.

Arm. We will talk no more of this matter.

Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. Cost. O, marry me to one Frances;-I smell some T'envoy, some goose, in this.