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Long. I must rather give it the rein ; for it runs against Hector.
Dum. Ay, and Hector's a grey-hound.
Arm. The sweet War-man is dead and rotten ;
Prin. Speak, brave Hector ; we are much delighted.
Coft. The Party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; the is two months on her way.
Arm. What mean'st thou ?
Cof. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is caft away; she's quick, the child brags in her belly already. 'Tis yours.
Arm. Doft thou infamonize me among Potentates ? Thou shalt die,
Coff. Then shall Hektor be whipt for Jaquenetta, that is quick by him; and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead
Dum. Most rare Pompey!
Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the huge!
Dum. Hector trembles.
Biron. Pompey is mov'd ; more Ates, more Ates; stir them on, ftir them on.
Dum. Hector will challenge him.
Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.
Arm. By the north-pole, I do challenge thee.
Cof. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man : I'll flash ; I'll do't by the Sword : I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.
Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies.
Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do ye not see, Pompey is uncafing for the combat : what mean you ? you will lose
your reputation. Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.
Dum. You may not deny it, Pompey, hath made the challenge.
Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt ; I go woclward for penance.
Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linnen ; since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but a difh-clout of faquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a Favour.
Enter Macard. Mac. God fave you, Madam!
Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interrupteft our merriment.
Mac. I'm sorry, Madam; for the news I bring
Prin. Dead, for my life.
Arm. For my own part, I breathe free breath ; I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right my self like a soldier.
[Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your Majesty ? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to night. King. Madam, not fo; I do beseech you, stay.
Prin. Prepare, I say.- I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, Qut of a new-sad foul, that you vouch safe In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide, The liberal opposition of our spirits ;. If over-boldly we have borne our selves In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it.. Farewel, worthy lord ;
An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue: (38)
King. The extreme part of time extremely formg
Prin. I understand you not, my griefs are double.
Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief ; And by these badges understand the King. For your
fair fakes have we neglected time, Play'd foul Play with our oaths : your beauty, ladies,, Hath much deform'd us, fafhioning our humours. Even to the opposed end of our intents ;, And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping in vain, Form'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye, Full of straying shapes, of habits, and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth rowl, To every varied object in his glance ; Which party.coated presence of loose love Put on by us, if, in your heav'nly eyes,
(38) An heavy heart bears not an humble Tonguc.] Thus alt the Editions; but, surely, without either Senre or Truth, None are more humble in Speech, than they who labour under any Oppression. The Princess is desiring, her Grief may apo: Jogize for her not expresling her Obligations at large; and my Corre&ion is conformable to that Sentiment. Besides, there is an Antithesis between heavy and nimble ; but, between beavy and humble, there is none.
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities' ;
Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love ;
King. Now at the latest minute of the hour,
Prin. A time, methinks, too short,
Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deserts ;
To flatter up these powers of mine with reft';
Hence, ever then, my heart is in thy breast.
Ros. You must be purged too, your fins are rank,
love what to me? Cath. A wife! a beard, fair ny un and honesty i With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?
(39) Biron. [ And what to me, my Love
and what to me? Ros. Tou must be purged too: your Sins are rank:
You are attaint with Fault and Perjury.
But seek the weary Beds of People fick.] These fix Verses both Dr. Thirlby and Mr. Warburton concur to think should be expung'd; and therefore I have put them between Crotchets: Not that they were an Interpolation, but as the Author's firft Draught, which he afterwards rejected; and executed the same thought a little lower with much more Spirit and Elegance. Shakespeare is not to answer for the present absurd repetition, but his A&or-Editors; who, thinking Rosalind's Speech too long in the second Plan, had abridg'd it to the Lines above quoted : but, in publishing the Play, fupidly printed both the Original Speech of Shakespeare, and their own Abridgment of it.