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Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.

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

The preyful princess pierced and prick'd a pretty pleasing pricket:

Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting.

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The dogs did yell; put 1 to sore, then sorel jumps

from thicke:

Or pricket, sor, or else sorel; the people all a

hooting,

If sore be sore, then L to s r: makes fifty sor.s; O

sore L!

Of one sore I an hundred make, by alding but one more L.

Nath. A rare talent!

Dull. [aside.] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent.

:

Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered 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; fort heir sonsa re 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 sons be ingenious, they shall want no instruction: if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them: but, vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth

US.

Enter JAQUENETTA and Costard.

Jaq. God give you good morrow, master

person.

Hol. Master parson, quasi pers-on. one should be pierced, which is the one?

And if

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead.

Hol. Piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a Aint, pearl enough for a swine: 'tis pretty; it is

well.

Jaq. 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.

Hol. Fauste, precor gelidâ quando pecus omne sub umbrâ Ruminat,-and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice:

Vinegia, Vinegia,

Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia.

Old Mantuan ! old

Mantuan ! Who understandeth thee not, loves thee not.-Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.-Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? Or, rather, as Horace says in hisWhat, my soul, verses?

Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.

Hol. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse; Lege, domine.

Nath.

If love make me forsworn, how I shall swear to love? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd! Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, Where all those pleasures live that art would com

prehend:

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend:

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder: (Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire;)

Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice is dreadful thunder,

Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire. Celestial as thou art, oh, pardon love this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue!

Hol. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso; but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention ? Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directe 1 to you?

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen's lords.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript. Το the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline. I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto:

Your ladyship's in all desired employment, BIRON.

Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the king; and here he hath framed a letter a sequent of the stranger queen's, which,

to

accidentally, or by way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king; it may concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty; adieu!

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me.-Sir, God save your life!

Cost. Have with thee, my girl.

[Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain father saith

Hǝl. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable colours. But, to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir Nathaniel?

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine; where if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the aforesaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention I beseech your society.

Nath. And thank you too: for society (saith the text) is the happiness of life.

Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it. [To DULL.] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay: pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation.

[Exeunt.

not.

SCENE III.-Another part of the same.

Enter BIRON, with a paper.

:

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitched a toil; am toiling in a pitch; pitch that defiles; defile! a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: well proved again o' my side! will not love if I do, hang me; i' faith, I will O, but her eye, by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and le in my throat. By heaven, I do love; and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already : the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper; God give him grace to groan.

[Gets up into a tree.

Enter the KING, with a paper.

King. Ah me!

Biron. [aside.] Shot, by heaven !—Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap.-In faith, secrets.— King. [reads.]

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,

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