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Boyet. And wherefore not ships?
Boyet. Belonging to whom?
Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies) By the heart's still rhetorick, disclosed with
eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.
Prin. Wich what?
Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
eye, As jewels in crystal for some Prince to buy ; Who tendring their own worth, from whence they were
That all eyes saw his eyes inchanted with gazes :
I only have made a mouth of his
eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. Rof. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakeft
skilfully. Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of
him. Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father
is but grim. Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches? Mar. No. Boyet. What then, do you see? Rof. Ay, our way to be gone. Boyet. You are too hard for me. (8) [Exeunt.
SCEN E, the Park; near the Palace.
Enter Armado and Moth.
Arble, child; make passionate my sense of
hearing Moth. Concolinel
[Singing. Arm. Sweet Air! go, tenderness of years ; take this key, give inlargement to the swain; bring him feftinately hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.
Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl ?
Arm. How mean'st thou, brawling in French?
(8) Boyet. You are too hard for me.] Here, in all the Books, the ad Aő is made to end: but in my opinion very mistaken. ly. I have ventur'd to vary the Regulation of the four lalt Acts from the printed Copies, for these Reasons. Hitherto, the 2d Aê has been of the Extent of 7 Pages; the 3d but
and the sth of no less than 29. And this Dispropor tion of Length has crouded too many Incidents into some A&s, and left the others quite barrèn. I have now reduced them into a much better Equality; and distributed the Buí. ness likewise, (such as it is,) into a more uniform Caft.
Moth. No, my compleat master (9) ; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids ; figh a note and fing a note; sometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love; sometimes through the nose, as if you snuft up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms crost on your thin-belly, doublet, like a rabbet on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting ; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away : these are complements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without these, and make the men of note (10): do you note men, that are most affected to there?
Arm. How haft thou purchas'd this experience ?
(9) Moth. No, my compleat Master, &c.) This whole Speed has been so terribly confused in the Pointing, through all the Editions hitherto, that not the least glimmering of Sense was to be pick'd out of it. As I have regulated the Pallage, I think, Moth delivers both good Sense and good Humour.
(10) these betray nice Wenches, that would be betray'de without these, and make them Men of Note.] Thus all the Edi. tors, with a Sagacity worthy of Wonder. But who will ever believe, that the odd Attitudes and Affectations of Lovers, by which they betray young Wenches, should have power to make those young Wenches Men of Note? This is a Transformation, which, I dare say, the Poet never thought of. His Meaning is, that they not only inveigle the young Girls, but make the Mer taken notice of too, who affect them. (11) Arm. But o, but o
Moth. The Hobby-horse is forgot.) The Humour of this Reply of Moth’s to Armado, who is fighing in Love, cannot be taken without a little Explanation: nor why there fhould be any room for making such a Reply. In the Rites formerly obsery'd for the Celebration of May-day, besides those now 1 2
Arm. Call'st thou my love hobby-horse?
Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse-is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney : but have you forgot your love?
Arm. Almost I had.
Arm. What wilt thou prove?
Moth. A man, if I live: And this by, in, and out of, upon the instant : by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her: in heart you love her, because
heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.
Arm. I am all these three.
Moth. And three times as much more; and yet nothing at all.
Arm. Fetch hither the swain, he must carry me a letter.
Moth. A message well fympathiz'd; a horse to be embassador for an ass.
Arm. Ha, ha; what say'st thou ?
Moth. Marry, Sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very flow-gated : but I go.
us'd of hanging a Pole with Garlands, and dancing round it, a Boy was dres up representing Maid Marian; another, like a Fryar; and another rode on a Hobby-horse, with Bells jing. Jing, and painted Streamers. After the Reformation took place, and Precisians multiplied, these latrer Rites were look'd upon to favour of Paganism; and then Maid Marian, the Fryar, and the poor Hobby-horse were turn'd out of the Games, Some, who were not so wisely precise, but regretted the Disuse of the Hobby-borse, no doubt, satiriz'd this Suspicion of Idolatry, and archly wrote the Epitaph above alluded to Now Moth, hearing Armado groan ridiculously, and cry out, But oh! but ob! humouroully pieces out his Exclamation with the Sequel of this Epitaph : which is putting his Master's Love- Passion, and the Loss of the Hobby-horse, on a Footing.
is but short; away. Moth. As swift as lead, Sir.
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Moth. Minimè, honest maiter ; or rather, master, no.
Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
Arm. Sweet smoak of rhetorick!
[Exit. Arm. A most acute Juvenile, voluble and free of
grace ; By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must figh in thy face. Moft rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is return'd.
Re-enter Moth and Costard. Moth. A wonder, master, here's a Coffard broken in Arm. Some enigma, fome riddle ; come, thy l'envey
begin. Coff. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the male, Sir. O Sir, plantan, a plain plantan; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, or salve, Sir, but plantan,
Arm. By vertue, thou enforcelt laughter; thy filly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling: O pardon me, my ftars ! doth the inconfiderate take salve for L'envoy, and the word l'envoy for a salve?
Moth. Doth the wise think them other is not l'envoy a salve ? Arm. No, page, it is an epilogue or discourse, to
make plain Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with
my l'envoy. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three.