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Lity, and golden cadence of poefie, 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 mafter, the ape his keeper, the try'd horse his rider : But Damosella Virgin, was this directly to you?

Jaq. Ay, Sir, from one Monsieur Biron, to one of the strange Queen's Ladies.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript. To the snowwhite 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 defir'd employment, Biron. This Biron is one of the votaries with the King; and here he hath fram'd a letter to a sequent of the stranger Queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarry'd. Trip and go, my sweet deliver this paper into the hand of the King; it may concern much: ftay not thy complement ; I forgive thy duty: adieu.

Jaq. Good Cofiard, go with me. Sir, God save your life.

Cof. Have with thee, my girl. [Exe. Coft. and Jaq.

Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously: and as a certain father faith

Hol. 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 pu: pil of mine; where if (being repaft) it shall please you to gratifie 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 will I those verses to be very unlearned, neither favouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beleech

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

Hol.

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prove

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

[Exeunt. Enter Biron, with a paper in his hand, alone, Biron. The King is hunting the deer, I am coursing myself. They have pitcht a toil, I am toiling in a pitch'; pitch, that defiles ; defile! a foul word : well, let thee down, forrow: for fo they say the fool faid, and so say I, and I the fool. Well prov'd wit. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax, it kills sheep, it kills me, I a sheep. Well prov'd again on my fide. I will not love; if I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye: by this light, but for her eye, I would not love; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love; and it hath taught me to rhime, and to be melancholy ; and here is part of my shime, and here my melancholy. Well, the hath one o' my fonnets 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 !

(be stands afide

. Enter the King. King. Ay me!

Biron. Shot, by heav'n! proceed, sweet Cupid; thou haft thumpt him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap: in faith, fecrets. King. [reads.] So sweet a kifs the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote

The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows ; Nor fhines the filver moon one half so bright,

Through the transparent bofom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;

Thou Ain't in every tear that I do weep :.

No

No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,

So rideft thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that fwell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will fhew ;
But do not love thy self, then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O Queen of Queens, how far doft thou excel !
No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell.
How shall the know my griefs? I'll drop the paper ;
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?

[The King Ateps aside.

Enter Longaville.
What? Longaville ! and reading ! liften, ear.

Biron. Now in thy likeness one more fool appears.
Long. Ay me! I am forsworn.
Biron. Why, he comes in like a Perjure, wearing

papers.
King. In love, I hope ; sweet fellowship in shame.
Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name.
Long. Am I the firft, that have been perjur'd so?
Biron. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that

I know ;
Thou mak'st the triumviry, the three-corner-cap of

fociety, The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up fimplicity.

Long. I fear, these ftubborn lines lack power to O sweet Maria, Empress of my love, These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.

Biron. O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose: Disfigure not his flop. (22)

Long.

move:

f22) Ob, Rbymes are Guards on wanton Cupid's Hose; Disfgure not bis Shop.] All the Editions happen to concur in this Error ; but what Agreement in Sense is there betwixt Cxpid's Hofe and his Sbop? Or, what Relation can those two Terms have to one another ? Or, what, indeed, can be under

stood

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Long. The same shall go. [he reads the fornet. Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye

("Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument) Perswade my heart to this false perjury,

Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment :
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove,

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee.
My vow was earthy, thou a heav'nly love :

Tby grace, being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is ;

Then thou fair fun, which on my earth dof frine,
Exhalf this vapour-vot; in thee it is ;

If broken then, it is no fault of mine;
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise

To lose an oath to win a Paradise ?
Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a

deity; A green goose a goddess : pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend, we are much out oth’ way.

Enter Dumain.
Long. By whom ihall I send this ? company?

stay.
Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play,
Like a demy-god, here fit I in the sky,
And wretched fools' secrets headfully o'er-eye :
More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my
Dumain transform’d? four woodcocks in a dish?

Dum. O most divine Kate !
Biron. O most prophane coxcomb!

[afide.

wish;

stood by Cupid's Shop? It must undoubtedly be corre&ted, as I have reform’d the Text. Slops are large and wide-kneed Breeches, the Garb in fashion in our Author's Days, as we may observe from old Family Pictures ; but they are now worn only by Boors and Sea-faring Men; and we have Dealers whose sole Business it is to furnith the Sailors with Shirts, Jackets, &c. who are call'd, Slop-men; and their Shops, Slopo foops,

Dum.

Dum. By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron. By earth, she is but corporal; there you lie. (23)

[afide. Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. Biron. An amber.colour'd raven was well noted.

[afide. Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I say; Her shoulder is with child.

[afide. Dum. As fair as day. Biron. Ay, as some days; bụt then na sun must shine.

[afide. Dum. O that I had my wih! Long. And I had mine!

[oside. King. And mine too, good Lord !

Lahde. Biron. Amen, fo I had mine! Is not that a good word ?

{ofide, Dum. I would forget her, but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.

Biron. A fever in your blood! why then, incision Would let her out in fawcers, sweet misprifion. [afide.

Dum. Once more I'll read the ode, that I have writ.
Biron, Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit.

(ajide.
Dumain reads his sonnet.
On a day, (alack, the day!)
Love, whose month is ever May,

(23) By Earth, she is not, corporal, there you lie.] Dumaise, one of the Lovers in spite of his Vow to the contrary, thinking himself alone here, breaks out into mort Soliloquies of Admiration on his Mistress ; and Biron, who stands behind as an Eves-dropper, takes Pleasure in contradicting his amorous Raptures. But Dumaine was a young Lord: "He had no Sort of Port in the Army: What Wit, or Allusion, then, can there be in Biron's calling him Corporal? I dare warrant, I have restor'd the Poet's true Meaning, which is this. Dumaine calls his Mistress divine, and the wonder of a mortal Eye; and Biron in Alat Terms denies these hyperbolical Praises. I scarce need hint, that our Poet commonly uses corporal, as corporeal. VOL. II.

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