Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love; and as it is base for a foldier to love, so I am in love with a base wench. If drawing my fword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Defire prifoner; and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devis'd court'fy. I think it fcorn to figh; methinks, I fhould out-fwear Cupid. Comfort mc, boy; what great men

have been in love?

Moth. Hercules, master.

Arm. Moft fweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more; and, fweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.

Moth. Sampfon, mafter; he was a man of good carriage; great carriage; for he carried the town-gates on his back like a porter, and he was in love.

Arm. O well-knit Sampson, strong-jointed Sampfon! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didft me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Sampfon's love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, master.

Arm. Of what complexion?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precifely of what complexion?
Moth. Of the fea-water green, Sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions?

Moth. As I have read, Sir, and the best of them too. Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampfon had fmall reason for it. He, furely, affected her for her wit.

Moth. It was fo, Sir, for fhe had a green wit.

Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Moft maculate thoughts, Master, are mask'd under fuch colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.

Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, affift me!

Arm

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child, moft pretty and

pathetical!

Moth. If fhe be made of white and red,

Her faults will ne'er be known ;

For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale-white shown;
Then if the fear, or be to blame,

By this

you fhall not know; For ftill her cheeks possess the same, Which native fhe doth owe.

A dangerous rhime, mafter, against the reason of white and red.

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?

Moth. The world was guilty of fuch a ballad some three ages fince, but, I think, now 'tis not to be found; or if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have that fubject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digreffion by some mighty prefident. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Coftard; fhe deferves well

Moth. To be whipp'd; and yet a better love than my mafter deferves.

Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel loving a light wench. Arm. I fay, fing.

Moth. Forbear, 'till this company is past.

Dull.

SCENE IV.

Enter Coftard, Dull, Jaquenetta a Maid.

STR

IR, the King's pleasure is, that you keep Coftard fafe, and you must let him take no delight, nor no penance; but he muft faft three days a week. For this damfel, I must keep her at the park, fhe is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well.

Árm.

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing: maid,
Jaq. Man,

Arm. I will vifit thee at the lodge.

Jaq. That's here by.

Arm. I know, where it is fituate.

Jaq. Lord, how wife

you are !

Arm. I will tell thee wonders.

Jaq. With that face?

Arm. I love thee.

Jaq. So I heard you say.
Arm. And fo farewel.

Jaq. Fair weather after you!
Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.

[Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. Arm. Villain, thou fhalt faft for thy offence, ere thou be pardoned.

Coft. Well, Sir, I hope, when I do it, I fhall do it on a full ftomach.

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punish'd,

Coft. I am more bound to you, than your followers; for they are but lightly rewarded.

Arm. Take away this villain, fhut him up.

Moth. Come, you tranfgreffing flave, away.

Coft. Let me not be pent up, Sir; I will fast, being loose.

Moth. No, Sir, that were faft and loofe; thou fhalt to prifon.

Coft. Well, if ever I do fee the merry days of defolation that I have seen, fome fhall fee

Moth. What shall some fee?

Coft. Nay, nothing, mafter Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prifoners to be filent in their words, and therefore I will fay nothing; I thank God, I have as little patience as another man, and therefore I can be quiet. [Exeunt Moth and Coftard.

Arm. I do affect the very ground (which is bafe) where her fhoe (which is bafer) guided by her foot which is bafeft) doth tread. I fhall be forfworn,

which is a great argument of falfhood, if I love. And how can that be true love, which is falfely attempted? love is a familiar, love is a devil; there is no evil angel but love, yet Sampfon was fo tempted, and he had an excellent ftrength; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid's but-fhaft is too hard for Hercules's club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier; the first and second cause will not ferve my turn; the Paffado he respects not, the Duello he regards not; his difgrace is to be call'd boy; but his glory is to fubdue men. Adieu, valour! ruft, rapier! be ftill, drum! for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Affift me, fome extemporal God of rhime, for, I am sure, I fhall turn fonnetteer. Devife wit, write pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio. [Exit.

ACT II.

་

SCENE I.

Before the King of Naverre's Palace.

Enter the Princess of France, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine, Boyet, Lords and other Attendants.

BOYET.

NOW, Madam, fummon up your dearest spirits ;

Confider, whom the King your father fends;

To whom he fends, and what's his embaffy.
Yourself, held precious in the world's eftcem,
To parley with the fole inheritor

Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchlefs Navarre; the plea, of no lefs weight
Than Aquitain, a dowry for a Queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When she did ftarve the general world befide,
And prodigally gave them all to you.

Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but

mean,

Needs not the painted flourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base fale of chapmens' tongues.
I am lefs proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than you much willing to be counted wife,
In fpending thus your wit in praise of mine.
But now, to task the tasker; good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
'Till painful ftudy fhall out-wear three years,
No woman may approach his filent Court;
Therefore to us feems it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
Bold of your worthinefs, we fingle you
As our beft-moving fair folicitor.

Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,
On ferious bufinefs, craving quick dispatch,
Importunes perfonal conference with his Grace.
Hafte, fignify fo much, while we attend,
Like humble-vifag'd fuitors, his high will.
Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. [Exit.
Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is fo;
Who are the votaries, my loving lords,

That are vow-fellows with this virtuous King?
Lord. Longaville is one.

Prin. Know ye the man?

Mar. I knew him, Madam, at a marriage-feast,
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Faulconbridge folemnized.

In Normandy faw I this Longaville,

A man of fovereign parts he is esteem'd;
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms,
Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well.
The only foil of his fair virtue's glofs,
(If virtue's glofs will stain with any soil,)