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The poor

Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ;
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

For. Nothing but fair is that, which you inherit.

Prin. See, fee, my beauty will be fav'd by merit. O heresie in fair, fit for these days! A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. But come, the bow; now mercy goes to kill, And shooting well is then accounted ill. Thus will I save my credit in the shoot, Not wounding, Pity would not let me do't: If wounding, then it was to fhew my Skill ; That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill. And, out of question, so it is sometimes ; Glory grows guilty of detested crimes ; When for fame's fake, for praise, an outward part," We bend to that the working of the heart. As I' for praise alone now seek to spill

deer’s blood, that my heart means no ill. Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty Only for praise-sake, when they strive to be Lords o'er their lords ?

Prin. Only for praise ; and praise we may afford To any lady, that subdues her lord.

Enter Costard: Boyet. Here comes a member of the common-

wealth. Cost. God dig-you-den all ; pray you, which is the head lady?

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest. that have no heads.

Cof. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ?
Prin. The thickest and the tallest.
Coft. The thickest and the tallest ? it is fo, truth is

An' your waste, mistress, were as sender as my wit,
One o' these maids girdles for your waste should be fit.
Are not you the chief woman ? you are the thickest

here. Prin. What's your will, Sir? what's your will ?

Cor. . Coff. I have a letter from Monsieur Biron, to one

lady Rosaline. Prin. O thy letter, thy letter : he's a good friend of

mine. Stand afide, good bearer. - Boyet, you can carve ; (15) Break up this capon.

Boyet. I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here ;
It is writ to y aquenetta.

rin. We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

Boyet reads.
Y heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible ;

thou art lovely ; more fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth it self; have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The magnanimous and most illustrate King Cophetua fet eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon ; and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici ; which to anatomize in the vulgar, (O base and obscure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, law, and overcame ; he came, one ; faw, two; overcame, three. Who came ? the King. Why did he come? to see. Why did he see? to o. vercome. To whom came he? to the beggar. What saw he ? the beggar. Who overcame het the beggar. The conclusion is victory; on whose fide? the King's ; the captive is inrich'd : on whose side ? the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial : on whose fide the (15) Boyet, you can carve:

Break up this Capon.) i. e. open this Letter. Our Poet uses this Metaphor, as the French do their Poulet ; which signifies both a young Fowl, and a Love-letter. Poulet, amatoria Litteræ ; says Richelet : and quotes from Voiture, Repondre au pluss obligeant Poulet du Monde; To reply to the most obliging Letter in the World. The Italians use the same manner of Expreflion, when they call a Love-Epiftle, una Pollio cetta amorosa. I ow'd the Hint of this equivocal use of the Word to my ingenious Friend Mr. Bishop.


King's ? no, on both in one, or one in both : I am the King, (for fo ftands the comparison) thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love! I may. Shall I enforce thy love! I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags ? robes; for tittles ? titles : for thy self? me. Thus expecting thy reply, I prophane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine in the dearest design of industry,

Don Adriano de Armado. Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standeft as his

prey ; Submissive fall his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play. But if thou strive (poor soul) what art thou then? Food for his rage, repaiture for his den. Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited this

letter? What vane ? what weathercock? did you ever hear

better? Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the stile. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere

while. Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in

Court, A phantasme, a monarcho, and one that makes sport To the Prince, and his book-mates.

Prin. hou, fellow, a word :
Who gave thee this letter ?

Col. I told you ; my lord.
Prir. To whom should'st thou give it?
Coft. From my lord to my lady.
Prin. From which lord to which lady?

Coft. From my lord Berown, a good mailer of mine,
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords,


Here, sweet, put up this ; 'twill be thine another day.

[Exit Princess attended. Boyet. Who is the shooter ? who is the shooter ? Rof. Shall I teach you to know? Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. Ros. Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off.

Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns : but if thou marry, Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. Finely put on.

Ros. Well then, I am the shooter.
Boyet. And who is


Ros. If we chuse by horns, your self; come not near.
Finely put on, indeed.
Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and the

strikes at the brow.
Boyet. But she her self is hit lower. Have I hit her

now? Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pippin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit-it

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.

Rof. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it. [Singing. Thou can'ft not hit it, my good man.

Boyet. An' I cannot, cannot, cannot ; An' I cannot, another can.

[Exit Rof. Coft. By my troth, most pleasant ; how both did

fit it. Mar. A mark marvellous well shot ; for they both

did hit it. Boyet. A mark? O, mark but that mark! a mark,

says my lady ; Let the mark have a prick in't; to meet at, if it Mar.' Wide o' th' bow-hand ; i'faith, your hand is

out. Coff. Indeed, a'must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit

the clout. Boyet. An’if my hand be out, then, belike, your hand


may be.

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Coff. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the

pin. Mar. Come, come, you talk greafily ; your lips grow

foul. Cot. She's too hard for you at pricks, Sir, chale

lenge her to bowl. Boyet. I fear too much rubbing ; good night my good owl.

[Exeunt all but Coftará. Col. By my soul, a swain ; a molt simple clown ! Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down ! O' my troth, most sweet jefts, most in-cony vulgar wit, When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely; as it

were, fo fit. Armado o' th’one side, -O, a most dainty man ; To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan. To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly he

will swear : And his Page o' t'other fide, that handful of Wit; Ah, heav'ns ! it is a most pathetical Nit.

[Exit Coftard.

[Shouting within. Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Sir Nathaniel. Nath. Very reverend sport, truly ; and done in the testimony of a good Conscience,

Hol. The deer was (as you know) sanguis, in blood ; ripe as a pomwater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of Cælo, the sky, the welkin, the heav'n ; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of Terra, the soil, the land, the earth.

Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are fweetly varied, like a scholar at the least : but, Sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket.

Hol. Most barbarous intimation ; yet a kind of infinuation, as it were in via, in way of explication ; facere, as it were, replication ; or rather, oftentare, to fhow, as it were his inclination ; after his undressed, unpolifaed, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather


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