lity, and golden cadence of poefie, caret: Ovidius Nafo was the man. And why, indeed, Nafo; but for fmelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? the jerks of invention ? imitari, is nothing: fo doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the try'd horse his rider : But Damofella Virgin, was this directly to you?

Jaq. Ay, Sir, from one Monfieur Biron, to one of the ftrange Queen's Ladies.

Hol. I will overglance the fuperfcript. To the fnowwhite band of the most beauteous lady Rofaline. I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the perfon written

unto.

Your Ladyship's in all defir'd employment, Biron.

This Biron is one of the votaries with the King; and here he hath fram'd a letter to a fequent of the ftranger Queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of progreffion, hath mifcarry'd. Trip and go, my fweet; deliver this paper into the hand of the King; it may concern much: ftay not thy complement; I forgive thy duty adieu.

Jaq. Good Coftard, go with me. Sir, God fave your life,

Coft. Have with thee, my girl. [Exe. Coft. and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously and as a certain father faith

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 pu pil of mine; where if (being repaft) it shall please you to gratifie the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the aforefaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where will I prove thofe verfes to be very unlearned, neither favouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your fociety. Nath And thank you too: for fociety (faith the text) is the happiness of life.

Hol.

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

[Exeunt.

Enter Biron, with a paper in his hand, alone.

Biron. The King is hunting the deer, I am courfing myfelf. They have pitcht a toil, I am toiling in a pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile! a foul word: well, fet thee down, forrow: for fo they fay the fool faid, and fo fay I, and I the fool. Well prov'd wit. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax, it kills sheep, it kills me, I a fheep. Weli prov'd again on my fide. 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; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love; and it hath taught me to rhime, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhime, and here my melancholy. Well, the hath one o' my fonnets already; the clown bore it; the fool fent it, and the lady hath it fweet clown, fweeter fool, fweetest 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! [be ftands afide.

King. Ay me!

Enter the King.

Biron. Shot, by heav'n? proceed, sweet Cupid; thou haft thumpt him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap: in faith, fecrets.

King. [reads.] So fweet a kifs the golden fun gives not To those fresh morning drops upon the rofe,

As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have fmote
The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows;
Nor fhines the filver moon one half so bright,

Through the transparent bofom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou fhin'ft in every tear that I do weep:

No

No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,
So rideft thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that fwell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will fhew;
But do not love thy felf, then thou wilt keep;
My tears for glaffes, and still make me weep.
O Queen of Queens, how far doft thou excel !
No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell.

How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper;
Sweet leaves, fhade folly. Who is he comes here?
[The King fteps afide.

Enter Longaville.

What? Longaville! and reading! liften, ear.
Biron. Now in thy likeness one more fool appears.
Long. Ay me! I am forfworn.

Biron. Why, he comes in like a Perjure, wearing
papers.

King. In love, I hope; fweet fellowship in fhame.
Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name.
Long. Am I the firft, that have been perjur'd fo?
Biron. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that
I know;

Thou mak'ft the triumviry, the three-corner-cap of fociety,

The fhape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up fimplicity. Long. I fear, these ftubborn lines lack power to

move:

O fweet Maria, Emprefs of my love,

Thefe numbers will I tear, and write in profe.

Biron. O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose: Disfigure not his flop. (22)

Long.

(22) Ob, Rhymes are Guards on wanton Cupid's Hofe; Disfigure not bis Shop.] All the Editions happen to concur in this Error; but what Agreement in Senfe is there betwixt Cupid's Hofe and his Shop? Or, what Relation can those two Terms have to one another? Or, what, indeed, can be under

ftood

Long. The fame shall go. [be reads the founet.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye
('Gainft whom the world cannot hold argument)
Perfwade my heart to this falfe perjury,
Vows, for thee broke, deferve not punishment:
A woman I forfwore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddefs, I forfwore not thee.
My vow was earthy, thou a heav'nly love:

Thy grace, being gain'd, cures all difgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is ;
Then thou fair fun, which on my earth doft fine,
Exhalf this vapour-vow; in thee it is ;

If broken then, it is no fault of mine;
If by me broke, what fool is not fo wife
To lofe an oath to win a Paradife?

Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity;

A green goofe a goddefs: pure, pure idolatry.

God amend us, God amend, we are much out o' th' way.

Enter Dumain.

Long. By whom fhall I fend this?

stay.

Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play; Like a demy-god, here fit I in the sky,

And wretched fools' fecrets headfully o'er-eye :

More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my wish; Dumain transform'd? four woodcocks in a dish? Dum. O moft divine Kate!

Biron. O most prophane coxcomb!

[afide.

ftood by Cupid's Shop? It muft undoubtedly be corrected, as I have reform'd the Text. Slops are large and wide-kneed Breeches, the Garb in fashion in our Author's Days, as we may obferve from old Family Pictures; but they are now worn only by Boors and Sea-faring Men; and we have Dealers whofe fole Bufinefs it is to furnish the Sailors with Shirts, Jackets, &, who are call'd, Slop-men; and their Shops, Slopshops.

Dum. By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron. By earth, she is but corporal; there you lie. (23)
[afide.

Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted.
Biron. An amber colour'd raven was well noted.

Biron. Ay, as fome days; but then no fun muft

fhine.

[afide.

[afide.

King. And mine too, good Lord!

[afide.

Biron. Amen, fo I had mine! Is not that

a good

[afide.

word?

Dum. I would forget her, but a fever the Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.

Biron. A fever in your blood! why then, incifion Would let her out in fawcers, fweet mifprifion. [afide. Dum. Once more I'll read the ode, that I have writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit. [afide

Dumain reads his fonnet.

On a day, (alack, the day!)
Love, whofe month is ever May,

(23) By Earth, he is not, corporal, there you lie.] Dumaire, one of the Lovers in spite of his Vow to the contrary, thinking himself alone here, breaks out into fhort Soliloquies of Admiration on his Miftrefs; and Biron, who ftands behind as an Eves-dropper, takes Pleasure in contradicting his amorous Raptures. But Dumaine was a young Lord: He had no Sort of Poft in the Army: What Wit, or Allufion, then, can there be in Biron's calling him Corporal? I dare warrant, I have reftor'd the Poet's true Meaning, which is this. Dumaine calls his Mistress divine, and the wonder of a mortal Eye; and Biron in flat Terms denies thefe hyperbolical Praifes. I fcarce need hint, that our Poet commonly uses corporal, as corporeal. VOL. II.

K

Spy'd