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Coft. I told you; my Lord.
Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it?
Coft. From my Lord to my Lady.
Prin. From which Lord to which Lady?

Coft. From my Lord Berown, a good master of mine,
To a Lady of France, that he calld Rofaline.
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, Lords,

away. Here, sweet, put up, this; 'twill be thine another day*.

[Exit Princess attended

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-another day.
Boyet. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter ?
Roj. Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Rof. Whv, me that bears the bow, Finely put off.

Boyet. My Lady goes to kill horns: hui if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on.

Roj. Well then, I am the shooter.
Boyet. And who is your deer?

Rof. If we chufe by horns, yourself; come not near.
Finely put on, indeed.

Mar. You still wrangle with her, Bovet, and the strikes at the brown Boyet. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now?

Rof. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pippin France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it, Rof. Thou can's not bit it, bit ir, bit it;

(Singing. Thou canst not bit it, my good man.

Boyet. An' I annot, cannot, cannot ; An' I cannot, anorber can.

[Exit Ros, Coft. By my troth, mort pleasant; how both did fit it. Mar. A mark marvellous well hot; for they both did hit it.

Boyet. A mark? O, mark but that mark! a mark, says my Lady; Let ihe mark have a prick in't; to meet at, if it may be.

Mar. Wide o'th bow-hand, i'faith, your hand is ont.
Cift. Indeed, a'must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.
Boyet. An' if my hand be out, then, belike, your hand is in.
Cof, Then will he get the upshot by cleaving the pin.
Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.
Cojt. She's too hard for you at pricks, Sir, challenge her to bowl.
Boyer. I fear too much rubbing; good night, my good owl,

[Exeunt all but Coftard.


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Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Sir Nathaniel. Nath. Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience.

Hol. The deer was (as you know) Sanguis, in d; ripe as a pomwater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of cælo, the sky, the welkin, the heav'n; 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 you it was a buck of the first head.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo ; 'twas a pricket.

Hol. Most barbarous intimation; yet a kind of infinuation, 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, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or rathereft unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.

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

Hol. Twice fod simplicity, bis coctus ; 0 thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look?

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed on 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

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Coff. By my soul, a Swain ; a most simple clown!
Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down!
O'my troth, most sweet jefts, most in.cony vulgar wit,
When it comes fo smoothly off, so obfienely; as it were, so fit.
Armado o'th'one side, -O a most dainty man;
To see him walk before a ladv, and to bear her fan.
To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly he will swear ;
And his page o't other side, that handful of wit :
Ab, heav'ns! it is a most pathetical nit.

(Exit Costard. [Shoosing within.


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ful should be for those parts (which we taste and feel, ingradare) 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

school. But omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind, Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. Dull. You two are book-men; can you tell by your

wit, What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five

weeks old as yet? Hol. Dietynna, good-man Dull; Dietynna, goodman Dull.

Dull. What is Dietynna ?
Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the Moon.
Hol. The moon was a month old, when Adam was

no more : And rought not to five weeks, when he came to five

fcore. Th'allufion holds in the exchange.

Dull. 'Tis true, indeed; the collufion holds in the exchange.

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

Dull. And I fay, the pollution holds in the exchange; for the moon is never but a month old ; and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the Princess killd.

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.

Nath. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate fcurrility.

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

The praiseful Princess pierced and prickt

A pretty pleasing pricket;
Some fay, a sore ; but not a fore,

Till now made fore with shooting.
The dogs did yell; put L to fore,
Tlen forel jumpt

from thicket;

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Or pricket fore, or elle forel,

The people fall a hooting.
If fore before, then L to fore

Makes fifty fores of forel.
Of one fore 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. : Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, fimple ; a foolish extravagant fpirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourish'd in the womb of pia mater, and deliver'd upon the mellowing 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 fons be ingenuous, they shall want no inítruction: if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But, vir fapit qui pauca loquitur; a foul feminine saluteth us.

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SCENE III. Enter Jaquenetta, and Costard.

Jaq. God give you good morrow, Master Parson* 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. [Nath.reads to himself, Hol. Faufte, precor, gelida quando pecus omne fub


Mater Parson. 110l. Mater Parson, quaji Person. And if one should be pierce'd, which is the one.

Coff. 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 : 'Tiş preity, i is wel, Ing. Good Master, &c.



Ruminat, and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan *, I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice ; Vinegia, Vinegia! qui non te vedi, ei non te pregia. Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! who understandeth thee not, loves thee not:-ut re fol 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 staff, a stanza, a verse; Lege, Domine. Nath. If love makes me forsworn, how shall I swear

to love ? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty

vow'd ; Tho'to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like ofiers

bow'd. Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine

eyes; Where all those pleasures live, that art would

comprehend: If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suf


fice ;

Well learned is that tongue, that well can theç

commend. All ignorant that foul, that sees thee without won


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Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts ad

mire ; Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread

ful thunder; Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet

fire. Celestial as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong. . That fings heav'n's praise with such an earthly

tongue. Hol. You find not the apostrophe's, and fo miss the accent. Let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratify'd; but for the elegancy, facility,

* He means Baptisia Spagnolus, surnamed Mantuanus from the place of his birth, a wriver of poems, who lived towards the end of the fifteenth century.


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