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As honour, without breach of honour, may
Make tender of to thy true worthiness:

You may not come, fair princess, in my gates;
But here without you shall be so receiv'd,
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart,
Though so denied fair harbour in my house.
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell!
To-morrow shall we visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place!
[Exeunt King and his Train.
Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.
Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations; I would be
glad to see it.

Biron. I would, you heard it groan.
Ros. Is the fool sick?

Biron. Sick at heart.

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

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they
were glass'd,

Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes:
I'll give yon 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

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?
Mar. No.

Boyet. What then, do you see?
Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet. You are too hard for me.

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Boyet. Not unlike, sir; that may be. [Exit Long. Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years; take

Biron. What's her name, in the cap?

Boyet. Katharine, by good hap.

Biron. Is she wedded, or no?

Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.

Biron. You are welcome, sir; adieu!
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you!
[Exit Biron-Ladies unmask.
Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord;
Not a word with him but a jest.
Boyet. And every jest but a word.

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word.
Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board.
Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry!
Boyet. And wherefore not ships?

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.
Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; shall that finish the
Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

[Offering to kiss her.

Mar. Not so, gentle beast!
My lips are no common, though several they be.
Boyet. Belonging to whom?
Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling: but, gentles agree:
The civil war of wits were much better used

On Navarre and his book-men: for here 'tis abused.
Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,)
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,
Deecive me not now, Navarre is infected.
Prin. With what?

this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.

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

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 eyelids; 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 penthouse-like, 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 compliments, 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.
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
will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Would you desire more?

And to

This sea

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

I Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose 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 ar-
gument begin?

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?

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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,

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.

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 rhetoric!

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:-
I shoot thee at the swain.

Moth. Thump then, and I flee.


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.

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
l'envoy, some goose, in this.

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.

Cost. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me loose.

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance, and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: Bear this significant to the country maid Jaquenetta; there is remuneration; [Giving him money.] for the best ward of mine honour is, rewarding my depen dents.- Moth, follow.


Moth. Like the sequel, I.-Signior Costard, adien. Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew![Exit Moth. Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings: three Arm.Some enigma, some riddle: come,-thy l'envoy; farthings-remuneration.-What's the price of this

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

- begin.

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir. 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 l'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.

inkle? a penny-No, I'll give you a remuneration: why, it carries it.-Remuneration!-why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word.

Enter BIRON.

Biron. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met!

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon
may a man buy for a remuneration?
Biron. What is a remuneration?
Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing.
Biron. O, why then, three-farthings worth of silk.
Cost. I thank your worship: God be with you!
Biron. O, stay, slave; I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
Do one thing for me, that I shall entreat.
Cost. When would you have it done, sir?
Biron. O, this afternoon.

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir. Fare you well!
Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is.
Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first.
Cost.I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave,

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:

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When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her


And Rosaline they call her: ask for her;

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And to her white hand see thou do commend This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go! [Gives him money. Cost. Guerdon, O sweet guerdon! better than remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better. Most sweet guerdon! I will do it, sir, in print.-Guerdon-re


[Exit. Biron. O! And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip;

A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
A critic; nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers aud malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
Sole imperator, and great general
Of trotting paritors,- O my little heart!
And I to be a corporal of his field,

And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!
What? I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
A woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a repairing; ever out of frame;
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch'd that it may still go right?
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all;
And, among three, to love the worst of all;
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,
With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;
Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed,
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! Go to; it is a plagne,
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty dreadful little might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan;
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit.


SCENE I. Another part of the same. Enter the Princess, ROSALINE, MARIA, CATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard

Against the steep uprising of the hill?

Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he.
Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch;
On Saturday we will return to France. -
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murderer in?
For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot!
Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot.
For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.
Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say, no?
O short-liv'd pride! not fair? alack for woe
For. Yes, madam, fair.


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And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes;
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart:
As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill


poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. Boyet. Do not curst wiveshold that self-sovereignty Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praise; and praise we may afford To any lady, that subdues a lord.


Prin. Here comes a member of the common-wealth. Cost. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
Prin. The thickest, and the tallest.

Cost. The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, One of these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit. Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.


Prin. What's your will, sir? what's will? Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline.

Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of mine:

Stand aside, good bearer !-Boyet, you can carve? Break up this capon.

Boyet. I am bound to serve.—

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin. We will read it, I swear:

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear! Boyet. [Reads.] By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici, which to anatomize in the vulgar, (0 base and obscure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the king; Why did he come? to see; Why did he see? to overcome: To whom came he? to the beggar; What saw he? the beggar; Who overcame he? the beggar: The conclusion is victory; On whose side? the king's, the captive is enrich'd; On whose side? the beggar's; The catastrophe is anuptial; On whose side? the king's?—no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison: thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? Imay: Shall I enforce thy love? I could: Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; For tittles? titles; For thyself? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part.

Thine, in the dearest design of industry, DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey; Submissive fall his princely feet before,



And he from forage will incline to play:
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.

Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited this letter?

What vane? what weather-cock? did you ever hear better?

Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the style. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile. Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;

A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport To the prince, and his book-mates.

Prin. Thou fellow, a word:

Who gave thee this letter?

Cost. I told you; my lord.

Prin. To whom should'st thou give it?
Cost. From my lord to my lady.

Prin. From which lord, to which lady?

Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.

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¡O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar wit!
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it
were, so fit.

Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter.-Come, lords, away.

Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day. [Exeunt.

Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?
Ros. Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Ros. Why, she that bears the bow.
Finely put off!

Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,

Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on!

Ros. Well then, I am the shooter.

Boyet. And who is your deer?

Armatho o' the one side,―0, a most dainty man!
To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan!
To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a' will

Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come near. Finely put on, indeed!

And his page o' t'other side, that handful of wit!
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! [Shouting
within.] Sola, sola! [Exit Costard, running.
SCENE II.-The same.

Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.

Boyet.But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now? Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when king Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?

Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and DULL. Nath. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience.

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain was a litte wench, as touching the hit it.

Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
Thou canst not hit, my good man.
Boyet. An Icannot, cannot, cannot,
An I cannot, another can.


Hol. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis,-blood; ripe as a pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of coelo, -the sky, the welkin, the heaven; 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 ye, it was a buck of the first head. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

[Exeunt Ros. and Kath. Cost. By my troth, most pleasant! how both did fit it! Mar. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.

Boyet. A mark! O, mark but that mark; a mark,
says my lady!

Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.
Mar. Wide o' the bow hand! I'faith your hand is out.
Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er
hit the clout.

Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket. Hol. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way of explication; facere, as it were, replication, or rather ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination,-after his undressed, upolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion,—to insert again my haud credo for a deer.

Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your hand is in.

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

Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the
Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips grow

Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge
her to bowl.

Hol. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus!-0 thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

Boyet. I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good
[Exeunt Boyet and Maria.
Cost. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown!
Lord lord! how the ladies and I have put him down

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of 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 sensible in the duller parts; And such barren plants are set before us, that we thank ful should be

(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts, that do fructify in us more than he. For, as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,

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


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The allusion holds in the exchange.

Dull. 'Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.

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

Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is never but a month old and I say beside, 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.

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Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it | Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful shall please you to abrogate scurrility.

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

The praiseful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing pricket;

Some say, a sore; but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting.

The dogs did yell; put I to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket;

Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall a hooting.

If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores; O

sore L!

Of one sore 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.


Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire. Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue! Hol. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent: let me supervise the canzonet! Here are only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidious Naso was the man: and why indeed, Naso; but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari,is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directed to you?

Jaq. Ay, sir, from oue Monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen's lords.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript. To the snowwhite hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.— [ will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foo- nomination of the party written unto. Your Ladylish, extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, ship's in all desired employment, BIRON. objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished king; and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of in the womb of pia mater; and deliver'd upon the mel-the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, or by the lowing 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 sons be ingenious, they shal} want no instruction: if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But, vir sapit, qui pauca loqui

tur: a soul feminine saluteth us.

Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD. Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person. Hol. Master person, quasi pers-ou. And if one should be pierced, which is the one? Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead.

Hol. Of piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine: 'tis pretty, it is well.

Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armatho I beseech you, read it.

Hol. Fauste, precor gelidà quando pecus omne sul


Ruminat, and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan!
I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice:
Vinegia, Vinegia,

Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia.


Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not, loves thee not! Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. -Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, rather, as Horace says in his-What, my soul, verses? Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.

Hol. Let me hear a staif, a stanza, a verse; Lege, domine.

Nath. (reads) If love make me forsworn, how shall
swear to love?

Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed!
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove;
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers


way of progression, hath miscarried.-Trip and go,
my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the
king; it may concern much: stay not thy compliment;
I forgive thy duty adieu!
Sir, God save

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me!
your life!

Cost. Have with thee, my girl!

[Exeunt Cost. and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain father saith-— Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable colours. But, to return to the verses; did they please you, sir Nathaniel?


Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine; where if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege have with the parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither gavouring of poetry, wit, nor invention: I beseech your society. Nath. And thank you too: for society, (saith the text,) is the happiness of life.

Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.-Sir, [To Dull.] I do invite you too; you shall not say me, nay: pauca verba.-Away; the gentles are at game, and we will to our recreation..

Another part of the same.
Enter BIKON, with a paper.

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil; I am toiling in a pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile! a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so, they say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit! By the lord, this love is as mad, as Ajax : it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep. Well proved again on my side! I will not love: if I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye,--by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes; I do love and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be Where all those pleasures live, that art would com-melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here prehend: my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper; God give him grace to groan! [Gets up into a tree.


If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee com-


All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wouder: (Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire;)

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