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Dum. Sir, I pray you a word: what lady is that fame? Boyet. The heir of Alanson, Rosaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady; Monsieur, fare you well.

[Exit. Long. I beseech you a word: what is she in white + ? Boyet. She is an heir of Faulconbridge I. Long. She is a molt sweet lady. Boyet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be ll. [Exit Long.

If

Rof. Alack, let it blood.
Bircn. Would that do it good ?
Rof. My physic says, Ay.
Biron. Will you prick’t with your eye ?
Rs. No point, wiih my knife.
Eiron. Now, God save thy life!
RS. And your's from long living !
Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving.
Dum. Sir, &c.

[Exit.

+

she in white ? Boyet. A woman sometimes, if you saw her in the light. Long. Perchance light in the light. I defire her name. Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to defire that were a thame. Long. Pray you, Sir, whose daughter ? Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. Ling. God's blefling on your beard ! Boyet. Good Sir, be not offended.

She is an, &c.

I Faulconbridge.
Long. Nay, my cholier is ended :

She is, &c.

that may be. Biron. What's her name in the cap? Boyet. Ca barins, by good hap, Biron. Is the wedded, or no? Boyet. To her will, Sir, or so. Biron. You are welcome, Sır: adieu ! Beyet. Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you. [ExiiBiron.

Mar. That lait is Biron, thc 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 theeps, marry.

Boget. And wherefore nor thips?
No sheep, (sweet lamb), unless we feed on your lips.
Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; thall that finish the jest?

Boyet,

2

If my

observation, (which very seldom lyes), By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected *. Rof. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest

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

of him. Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her fa

ther is but grim.
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?
Mar. No.
Boyet. What then? do you see?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

Mür. Noc fo, gentie beast;
My lips are no commun, though several they be.

Buyet. Belonging to whom?
Mar. To my foriunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree,
This civil war of wits were much better usd
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd,
If my observation, &c.

is infected.
Prin. With what?
Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected.
Prin. Your reason?

Buget. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough «elire :
His heart, like an agat with your print imp essed,
Proud with his form, in his eye p:ide exprefled,
His tcngue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did Itumble with halte in his eye sight to be :
All lenses to that sense did make their repair,
To fe I only looking on fairest of fair;
Methought all his fences were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ;
Who tend'ring their own worth, from whence they were glass'd,
Did point out to buy them, along as you pass’d.
His faces' own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes law his eyes inchanied with gazes :
I'll give you Aquitair, and all that is his,
An' you give him for my fake but one loving kiss.

Prin. Come, so ou: pavilion : Boyer is dispos’d

Boyet. But to speak that in words which wis eye hath disclos'd ; I only ha 'e made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lye.

Rof. Thou art, &c. Vol. II.

х

Bof

Rof. Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet. You are too hard for me.

[Exeunt.

A CT III.

SCENE I.

WArbles

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The park, near the palace.

Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. 7 Arble, child; make passionate my sense of

hearing Moth. Concolinel

[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.

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

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

Moth. No, my compleat 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; figh a note and fing a note; fometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love; fometimes through the nose, as if you snuff d up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse like, o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms cross’d on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbet 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 'complishments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without these, and make them men of note (do you notë me?) that are most affected to these?

Arm. How halt thou purchas'd this experience ?
Moth. By my pen of observation.
Arm. But 0, but O.
Moth. The hobby-horse is forgot *.
Arril. Call's thou my love hobby-horfe?

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

Arm. Almost I had.

The burthen of an old song.

Molk,

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.
Moth. And out of heart, Master: all those three I

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will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove ?

Moth. A man, if I live : and this by in, and out of, 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 en

joy her.

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Arm. I am all these three.
Moth. And three times as much

more ;

and

yet no. thing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain, he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A message well fympathiz'd; a horse to be embassador for an ass.

Arm. Ha, ha, what fay'st thou ?

Moth. Marry, Sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gated : but I go.

Arm. The way is but short; away.
Moth. As swift as lead, Sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Is not lead of metal heavy, dull, and slow?

Moth. Minimè, honest Master; or rather, Master, no.
Arm. I say, lead is flow.

Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
Is that lead flow, Sir, which is fir'd from a gun?

Arm. Sweet smoak of rhetoric !
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
I shoot thee at the swain.
Moth. Thump then, and I fly,

[Exit.
Arın. A most acutejuvenile,voluble, and free of grace;
Ry thy favour, sweet welkin, I must figh in thy face.
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return’d.

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SCENE 11.

Re-enter Moth and Costard *.

Arni. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance ; and, in lieu thereof, impofe on thee nothing but this :

bear

and Costard. Mob. A wonder, Martir; here's a Costard broken in a fhin. Arm. Some enigma, fome riddle; come, thy l'env.y' begin.

Caf. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the male, Sir. O Sir, plantan, a plain plantan; no l'envy, no l'envoy, or salve, Sir, but plantan.

Arm. By virrue, thou enforcest laughter; thy filly thought, my Spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling; O pardon me, my stars ! doth the inconfiderate take salve for l'envoyi and the word l'envoy for a saive?

Mob. Doth the wife think : hem other ? is not l'envoy a falve ?
Arm. No,

page,

it is an ep. ogue or discourse, to make plain Some obfcure pri cedence that hab' tofore been sain. I will example it. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow

with my l'envuj.
The fox, the ape, and the humble bee,
Were still at odis, being bu three.
There's the m«ral, now the l'envy..

Mstb. I will add ebe l'envoy; say the moral again.

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

Mob. Until:he goose came out of door,
And stay d the odds by adding four.
A good l'envoy, ending in the goole; would you desire more ?

Cost. The boy haih fold him a bargain ; a grose, that's fiat;
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an' your goose be tat.
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose.
Let me tee a fat l'envoy; I, that's a fat goose.

Am. Come hither, come hither;
How did this argumeni begin?

Mith. By saying, that a Custard was broken in a shin, 'Then callid you for a l'envoy.

Coft True, and I for a plantan,
Thus came the argument in ;
Then the by's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought,
And he evided he market.

firm. But tel me, how was there a Costard broken in a min?
Morb I will tell

you fencibly.
Gost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth.
I will speak that l'envoy
Coftard running oui, ihat was safely within,
Fell over the threshold, and broke my fin.

Arm. We will talk no more of this inatter,

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