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 fue! I feek 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 figh for her! to watch for her!
Το pray for her! Go to; it is a plague
That Cupid will impofe for my neglect
Of his almighty dreadful little might.

Well, I will love, write, figh, pray, fue, and groan;
Some men muft love my lady, and fome Joan.

ACT IV

SCENE I. Another part of the fame.

[Exit.

Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BorET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forefter.

PRIN. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill?

BorET. 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,

VOL. II.

E

That we must ftand 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'ft, the fairest shoot.
FOR. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not fo.
PRIN. What, what? first praise me, and again fay, no?
O fhort-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe!

FOR. Yes, madam, fair.

PRIN. Nay, never paint me now;

Where fair is not, praife cannot mend the brow,
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true;

[Giving him money,

Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
FOR. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
PRIN. See, fee, my beauty will be fav'd by merit.
O herefy in fair, fit for these days!

A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.-
But come, the bow:-Now mercy goes to kill,
And fhooting well is then accounted ill.

Thus will I fave my credit in the fhoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
If wounding, then it was to fhow my skill,

That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is fometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detefted crimes;

When, for fame's fake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart:

As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.

BOYET. Do not curft wives hold that felf-fovereignty

Only for praife' fake, when they ftrive to be
Lords o'er their lords?

PRIN. Only for praise: and praise we may afford To any lady that fubdues a lord.

Enter CoSTARD.

PRIN. Here comes a member of the commonwealth. Cosr. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

PRIN. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the reft that have no heads.

COST. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ?
PRIN. The thickeft, and the tallest.

[truth.
COST. The thickeft, and the tallest! it is fo; truth is
An your waist, miftrefs, were as flender 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, fir? what's your will?
Cost. I have a letter from monfieur Biron to one lady

Rofaline.

[mine

PRIN. O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of Stand afide, good bearer.-Boyet, you can carve;

Break up this capon.

BOYET. I am bound to ferve.

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here

It is writ to Jaquenetta.

PRIN. We will read it, I fwear:

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

Borer. [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 commiferation on thy heroical vaffal! The magnanimous and moft illuftrate king Cophetua fet eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and be it was that might rightly fay, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize in the vulgar, (0 bafe and obfcure vulgar!) vi

delicet, he came, faw, and overcame: he came, one; faw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the king? why did he come? to fee; Why did he fee? to overcome: To whom came he? to the beggar: What faw be? the beggar; Who overcame be? the beggar: The conclufion is victory; On whose fide? the king's: the captive is enrich'd; On whofe fide? the beggar's; The catastrophe is a nuptial; On whofe fide? the king's ?_no; on both in one, or one in both. I am the king; for fo ftands the comparison: thou the beggar; for fo witne eth thy lowlinefs. Shall I command thy love? I may : Shall I enforce thy love? I could: Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What halt 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 defign of industry,

DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.

Thus doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that ftandeft as his prey; Submiffive fall his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play:

But if thou strive, poor foul, what art thou then?
Food for his rage, repafture 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. Elfe your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile.
BOYET. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in

court;

A phantafm, 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 shouldst 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 Rofaline.

PRIN. Thou haft mistaken his letter. Come, lords,

away.

Here, fweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day. [Exit PRINCESS and Train.

BOYET. Who is the fuitor? who is the fuitor?

Ros. Shall I teach you to know?

BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty.

Ros. Why, the 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

Finely put on!

Ros. Well then, I am the shooter.

BorET. And who is your deer?

year miscarry.

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

MAR. You ftill 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 faying, that was a man when king Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?

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