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de Earl, de Knight, de Lords, de Gentlemen, my

patients.

Hoft. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne Page: faid I well?

Caius. By gar, 'tis good; vell faid.

Hoft. Let us wag then.

Caius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby

[Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I.

Frogmore near Windfor.

Enter Evans and Simple.

EVANS.

Pray you now, good mafter Slender's fervingman, and friend Simple by your name, which way have you look'd for mafter Caius, that calls himself Doctor of Phyfick?

Simp. Marry, Sir, the Pitty-wary, the Park-ward, every way, old Windfer way, and every way but the

town way.

Eva. I most fehemently defire you, you will also look that way.

Simp. I will, Sir.

Eva. 'Plefs my foul, how full of cholars I am, and trempling of mind! I fhall be glad, if he have deceiv'd me; how melanchollies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's coftard, when I have good opportunities for the orke: 'Plefs my foul!

[Sings, being afraid.

By fhallow rivers, to whofe falls
Melodious birds fing madrigalls;

VOL. II.

Kk

There

There will we make our peds of roses;
And a thousand vagrant pofies 3.

By fhallow

"Mercy on me! I have a great difpo

fitions to cry. Melodious birds fing madrigallsWhen as I fat in Pabilon;

pofies. -By fhallow, &c.

—and a thousand vagrant

Simp. Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh.
Eva. He's welcome. By fhallow rivers, to whofe

falls-
Heav'n profper the right! what weapons is he?

3 By shallow rivers, &c.] This is part of a beautiful little poem of the author's, which

Simp.

poem, and the answer to it, the reader will not be displeased to find here.

The Paffionate Shepherd to his Love.

Come live with me, and be my Love,
And we will all the Pleasure prove,
That Hills and Vallies, Dale and Field,
And all the craggy Mountains yield.
There will we fit upon the Rocks,
And fee the Shepherds feed their Flocks,
By fhallow Rivers, by whofe Falls
Melodious Birds fing Madrigalls:
There will I make thee Beds of Rofes,
And then a thousand fragrant Pofies;
A Cap of Flowers, and a Kirtle
Imbroider'd all with leaves of Myrtle ;
A Gown made of the fineft Wool,
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined Slippers for the Cold,
With Buckles of the pureft Gold;
A Belt of Straw, and Ivy-Buds,
With Coral Clasps, and Amber Studs.
And if thefe Pleafures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my
Love.
Thy filver Dishes for thy Meat,
As precious as the Gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory Table be
Prepar'd each Day for thee and me.

1

The Shepherds Swains fhall dance and fing,-
For thy Delight each May Morning.
If thefe Delights thy Mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my Love

The

Simp. No weapons, Sir; there comes my master Mr. Shallow, and another gentleman from Frogmore, over the ftile, this way.

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown, or elfe keep it in your arms.

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Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender.

Shal, How now, mafter Parfon? good morrow, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamefter from the dice, and a good student from his book, and it is wonderful. The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd.

If all the World and Love were young,
And Truth in every Shepherd's Tongue;
Thefe pretty Pleafures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy Love.

But Time drives Flocks from Field to Fold,
When Rivers rage, and Rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of Cares to come :
The Flowers do fade, and wanton Fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields.
A honey Tongue, a Heart of Gall,
Is Fancy's Spring, but Sorrow's Fall.
Thy Gowns, thy Shoes, thy Bed of Rofes,
Thy Cap, thy Kirtle, and thy Pofies;
Soon break, foon wither, foon forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reafon rotten.
Thy Belt of Straw, and Ivy-Buds,
Thy Coral Clafps, and Amber Studs,
All thefe in me no means can move,
To come to thee, and be thy Love.
What fhould we talk of Dainties then,
Of better Meat than's fit for Men ?
These are but vain: that's only good
Which God hath bleft, and fent for Food.
But could Youth laft, and Love ftill breed,
Had Joys no date, and Age no need;
Then thefe Delights my Mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy Love.
Thefe two Poems, which Dr.
Warburton gives to Shakespeare,
are, by Writers nearer that time,
difpofed of, one to Marlow, the

other to Raleigh. Thefe Poems
are read in different Copies with
great Variations.

Kk 2

Slen.

1

Slen. Ah, fweet Anne Page!

Page. Save you, good Sir Hugh.

Eva. 'Plefs you from his mercy-fake, all of you. Shal. What? the fword and the word? do you ftudy them both, Mr. Parson?

Page. And youthful ftill, in your doublet and hofe, this raw-rheumatick day?

Eva. There is reasons and causes for it.

Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, Mr. Parfon.

Eva. Ferry well: what is it?

Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who belike, having receiv'd wrong by fome perfon, is at most odds with his own gravity and patience, that ever you faw.

Shal. I have liv'd fourfcore years, and upward; I never heard a man of his place, gravity and learning, fo wide of his own refpect.

Eva. What is he?

Page. I think you know him; Mr. Doctor Caius, the renowned French phyfician.

Eva. Got's will, and his paffion of my heart! I had as lief you would tell me of a mefs of porridge. Page. Why?

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen; and he's a knave befides; a cowardly knave as you would defire to be acquainted withal.

Page. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him.

Slen. O, fweet Anne Page!

SCENE III.

Enter Hoft, Caius, and Rugby.

Shal. It appears fo, by his weapons.-Keep them afunder-here comes Doctor Caius.

Page. Nay, good Mr. Parfon, keep in your weapon.

Shal

Shal So do you, good Mr. Doctor.

Hoft. Difarm them, and let them queftion; let them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English.

Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear: wherefore vil you not meet-a me ?

Eva. Pray you, ufe your patience. In good time. Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.

Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stocks to other men's humours. I defire you in friendship, and will one way or other make you amends; I will knog your urinal about your knave's cogs-comb, for miffing your meetings and appointments.

Caius. Diable! Jack Rugby, mine Hoft de Farterre, have I not stay for him, to kill him? have I not, at de place I did appoint?

Eva. As I am a chriftian's foul, now look you, this is the place appointed; I'll be judgment by mine Hoft of the Garter.

Hoft. Peace, I fay, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welch, foul-curer and body-curer.

Caius. Ay, dat is very good, excellent.

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Hojt. Peace, I fay; hear mine Hoft of the Garter. Am I politick? am I fubtle? am I a Machiavel? fhall I lofe my Doctor? no; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I lofe my Parfon? my Prieft? my Sir Hugh? no; he gives me the proverbs and the no verbs. Give me thy hand, terreftial; fo.-Give me thy hand, celestial; fo. Boys of art, I have deceiv'd you both: I have directed you to wrong places: your hearts are mighty, your fkins are whole, and let burn'd fack be the iffue. Come, lay your fwords to pawn. Follow me, lad of peace, Follow, follow, follow.

Shal. Truft me, a mad Hoft.-Follow, gentlemen, follow.

Slen. O, fweet Anne Page!

[Exeunt Shal. Slen, Page and Hoft. Kk 3

Caius.

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