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Long. I must : rather give it the rein ; for it runs-
Arm. The sweet War man is dead and rotten ;
Prin. Speak, brave Hektor ; we are much delighted.
Col. The Party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; the is two months on her way.
Arm. What mean't thou ?
Coft. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away ; The's quick, the child brags. in her belly ready. 'Tis yours.
Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among Potentates? Thou shalt die,
Coff. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta, that is quick by him ; and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead. by him.
Dum. Most rare Pompey!
Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey !
Dum. Hector trembles.
ftir thein on.
Arm. By the north-pole, I do challenge thee.
Dum. Room for the incenfed Worthiesia.
Moth. Master, let me take you a button. hole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat: what mean you ? you will lose your reputation.
Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.
Dum. You may not deny it, Pompey, hath made the challenge.
Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I ge woolward for penance.
Boyet. True, and it was enjoind him in Rome for want of linnen ; since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but a dish-clout
of J aquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a Favour.
Enter Macard. Mas, God save you, Madam!
Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interrupteft our merriment.
Mac. I'm sorry, Madam; for the news I bring
Prin Dead, for life.
Arm. For my own part, I breathe free breath ; ! have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right my self like a soldier.
[Exeunt Worthiesa King. How fares your Majesty ? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to night. King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.
Prix. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat, Out of a new-fad soul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide, The liberal opposition of our spirits ; If over. boldly we have borne our felves In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord ;
An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue : (38)
King. The extreme part of time extremely forms
Prin. I understand you not, my griefs are double.
Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief:
(38) An beavy beart bears not an humble Tongue.] Thus all the Editions ; but surely, without either Sense or Truth. None are more bumble in Speech, than they who labour under any Oppreffion. The Princess is defiring, her Grief may applogize for her not expressing her Obligations at large ; and my Correction is conformable to that Sentiment. Besides, there is an Antirbefis between beavy and nimble ; but between beavy and bumble, there is none.
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities;
Those heav'nly eyes, that look into these faulte;.
Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love ;:
jeft. Long. So did our looks. Roj. We did not coat them fo.
King. Now at the latest minute of the hour,
Prin. A time, methinks, too short,
Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deserts i,
To flatter up these powers of mine with reft ;
Hence, ever then, my heart is in thy breast.
fins are rank.
Dum. But what to me, my Jove? but what to me?
Cath. A wife ! a beard, fair health and honesty a With threefold love I wish you all these three.
Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?
(39) Biron. [ And what to me, my Love? and what to me?
You are attaint with Fault and Perjury,
But seek the weary Beds of People fick.] These fix Verses both Dr. Thirlby and Mr. Warburton concur to think should be expung'd; and therefore I have put them between Crochets : Not that they were an Interpolation, but as the Author's first Draught, which he afterwards rejected ; and executed the same Thought a little lower with much more Spirit and Elegance. Shakespeare is not to answer for the present absurd repetition, but his Actor-Editors'; who thinking Rosalind's Speech too long in the second Plan, had abridg'd it to the Lines above quoted : bút, in publishing the Play, stupidly: printed both the Original Speech of Shakespear, and their own, Abridgment of it.