O! never will I trust to fpeeches pen'd,

Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue; Nor never come in vizor to my friend,

Nor woo in rhime, like a blind harper's fong. Taffata-phrafes, filken terms precife,

Three pil'd hyperboles, fpruce affectation, Figures pedantical, thefe fummer-flies,

Have blown me full of maggot oftentation: I do forfwear them; and I here protest,

By this white glove, (how white the hand, God
knows!)

Henceforth my wooing mind fhall be exprest
In ruffet yeas, and honeft kerfie noes:
And to begin, wench, (fo God help me, law!)
My love to thee is found, fans crack or flaw.
Ref. Sans, fans, I pray you.

Biron. Yet I have a trick

Of the old rage: bear with me, I am fick.
I'll leave it by degrees: foft, let us fee;
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lyes;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are vifited, you are not free;

For the lord's tokens on you both I see.

Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens

to us.

Biron. Our states are forfeit, feek not to undo us. Rof. It is not fo; for how can this be true, That you stand forfeit, being thofe that fue? Biron. Peace, for I will not have to do with you. Rof. Nor fhall not, if I do as I intend.

Biron. Speak for your felves, my wit is at an

end.

King. Teach us, fweet Madam, for our rude tranfgreffion

Some fair excufe.

Prin. The faireft is confeffion.

Were

Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd?

King. Madam, I was.

Prin. And were you well advis'd?

King. I was, fair Madam.

Prin. When you then were here,

What did you whisper in your lady's ear?

King. That more than all the world I did respect

her.

Prin. When the fhall challenge this, you will reject her.

King. Upon mine honour, no.
Prin. Peace, peace, forbear:

Your oath once broke, you force not to forfwear.
King. Defpife me, when I break this oath of mine.
Prin. I will, and therefore keep it. Rofaline,
What did the Rufhan whisper in your ear?

Rof. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear As precious eye-fight; and did value me Above this world; adding thereto, moreover, That he would wed me, or elfe die my lover. Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord Most honourably doth uphold his word.

King. What mean you, Madam? by my life, my troth,

I never swore this lady fuch an oath:

Rof. By heav'n, you did; and to confirm it plain, You gave me this: but take it, Sir, again.

King. My faith, and this, to th' Princess I did give; I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

Prin. Pardon me, Sir, this jewel did she wear:
And lord Biron, I thank him, is my Dear.
What? will you have me; or your pearl again?
Biron. Neither of either: I remit both twain.
I see the trick on't; here was a confent,

(Knowing aforehand of our merriment)
To dash it, like a Christmas comedy.

Some carry-tale, fome pleafe-man, fome flight zany,

Some

Some mumble-news, fome trencher-knight, fome Dick,

I

That smiles his cheek in years, and knows the trick
To make my lady laugh, when she's difpos'd,
Told our intents before; which once difclos'd,
The ladies did change Favours, and then we,
Following the figns, woo'd but the fign of fhe:
Now to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forfworn; in will, and error.
Much upon

this it is. And might not You [To Boyet. Foreftal our sport, to make us thus untrue? Do not you know my lady's foot by th' fquier, And laugh upon the apple of her eye, And ftand between her back, Sir, and the fire, Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?

2

You put our Page out: go, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a fmock fhall be your shrowd.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden fword.

Boyet. Full merrily

Hath this brave Manage, this Career, been run. Biron. Lo, he is tilting ftrait. Peace, I have done,

Enter Coftard.

Welcome, pure wit, thou parteft a fair fray.
Coft. O lord, Sir, they would know

Whether the three Worthies fhall come in, or no.

I -fmiles his cheek in years, ] Mr. Theobald fays, he cannot, for his heart, comprehend the fenfe of this phrase. It was not his heart but his head that ftood in his way. In years, fignifies, into wrinkles. So in The Merchant of Venice,

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.

See the note on that line. But the Oxford editor was in the fame cafe, and fo alters it to fleers.

2

-go, you are allow'd;] i. e. you may fay what you will; you are a licensed fool, a common jefter. So Twelfth Night. There is no flander in an allow'd fool.

Biron. What, are there but three?

Coft. No, Sir, but it is vara fine; For every one pursents three.

Biron. And three times three is nine?

Coft. Not fo, Sir, under correction, Sir; I hope, it is not fo.

You cannot beg us, Sir; I can affure you, Sir, we know what we know: I hope, three times thrice, SirBiron. Is not nine.

Coft. Under correction, Sir, we know where until it doth amount.

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. Coft. O lord, Sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, Sir.

Biron. How much is it?

Coft. O lord, Sir, the parties themselves, the actors, Sir, will fhew whereuntil it doth amount; for my own part, I am, as they fay, but to perfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, Sir.

Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?

Coft. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am to ftand for him. Biron. Go bid them prepare.

Coft. We will turn it finely off, Sir, we will take fome care.

King. Biron, they will fhame us; let them not approach. Exit Coft. Biron. We are fhame-proof, my lord; and 'tis fome policy

To have one Show worse than the King's and his Company.

King. I fay, they fhall not come.

Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now, That sport best pleases, that doth least know how. Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Dies in the zeal of that which it presents; T

VOL. II.

Their

Their form, confounded, makes most form in mirth; When great things, labouring, perish in their birth. Biron. A right defcription of our fport, my lord.

Arm. Anointed, I implore fo much expence of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. Prin. Doth this man ferve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He fpeaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, fweet, hony monarch; for, I proteft, the schoolmafter is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: but we will put it, as they fay, to fortuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, moft royal coupplement.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies: he prefents Hector of Troy; the fwain, Pompey the Great; the parish-curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabeus.

And if thefe four Worthies in their firft Show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other five.

Biron. There are five in the first Show.
King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest,
the fool, and the boy.

A bare throw at Novum, and the whole world again Cannot prick out fiye fuch, take each one in's vein. King The fhip is under fail, and here fhe comes

amain.

Enter Coftard for Pompey.

Coft. I Pompey am

Boyet. You lye, you are not he.

Coft.