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MIcth. Of the sea-water green, Sir.
Arm. Is that one of the four complections ?
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, Sampson had small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit.

Moth. It was so, Sir, for she had a green wit.
Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red.

Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask'd under such colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant,
Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue affist me!

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty and pathetical! Moth. If she 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 hown; Then if the fear, or be to blame,

shall not know ; For ftill her cheeks poffers the same,

Which native she doth owe. A dangerous rhime, master, against the reason of white and red.

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

Math. The world was guilty of such a ballad fome three

ages since, but, I think, now 'cis not to be found; or if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor

Arm. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digreffion by fome mighty president. Boy, I do love that country girl

, that I took in the park with the rational hind Coftard; she deserves well

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

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

. Arm. I say, fing. Moth. Forbear, 'till this company is paft.

By this you

the tune.

. Well.

a chat I ha

Da li is no ti terefore


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Enter Costard, Dull, Jaquenetta a Maid.
Dull. Sir, the King's pleasure is that you keep Cofferd
safe, and you must let him take no delight, nor no pa
nance; but he mult fast three days a week. For this
damsel, I must keep her at the park, she is allow'd for
the day-woman. Fare you well.

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing: maid;-
Jag. Man,
Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge.
Jaq. That's here by.
Arm. I know, where it is situate:
Jaq. Lord, how wise you are !
Arm. I will tell thee wonders.
Jaq. With that face?
Arm. I love thee.
Jaq. So I heard you say.
Arm. And so farewel.
Jaq. Fair weather after you !
Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. (7)

[Exeunt Duli and Jaquenettar Arm. Villain, thou shalt fall for thy offence, ere thov be pardoned.

Coft. Well, Sir, I hope when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach.

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punith’d.
Coff, I am more bound to you,

than for they are but lightly rewarded.

Arm. Take away this villain, shut him up.
Moth. Come, you transgressing slave, away:
Coft. Let me not be pent up, Sir; I will fast, being loose.

Moth. No, Sir, that were fast and loose; thou shalt
to prison. .
(7) Maid. Fair wrather after you.

Come Jaquenetta, away. ] Thus all the printed copies: but the editors have been guilty of much inad. quenetla is the only maid intended by the poet, and who is committed park. This being the case, it is evident to demonstration, that-Fair to the custody of Dul, to be convey'd by him to the lodge in the weather after you must be spoken by Jaquenetta; and then that Dull


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be quiet.

Coft. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, fome shall see

Moth. What fhall some see?

Coff. Nay, nothing, master Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prisoners to be silent in their words, and therefore I will say nothing ; I thank God, I have as little patience as another man, and therefore I can

[Exeunt Moth with Coftard. Arm. I do affect the very ground (which is bale) where her shoe (which is bafer) guided by her foot (which is baseft) doth tread. I shall be forsworn, which is a great argument of fallhood, if I love. And how can that be true love, which is falfly attempted ? love is a familiar, love is a devil; there is no evil angel but love, yet Sampson was fo tempted, and he had an excellent strength ; yet was Solomon so leduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid's but-shaft 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 Pasado he respects not, the Duello he regards not; his disgrace is to be call’d boy; but his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour; rot, rapier; be itill, drum ; for your manager is in love ; yea, he loveth. Aflift me, some extemporal god of rhime, for I am sure, I shall turn sonnet. Devise wit, write pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio.


ACT Τ ΙΓ. SCENE, before the King of Navarre's Palace. Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, Catha

rine, Boyet, Lords and other Attendants.

ВоYE т. Ow, madam, fummon up your deareft spirits; To whom he sends, and what's his embaffy.

Yourself, my worth,

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Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the sole inheritor.
Of all perfeétions that a man may owe,
Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitain, a dowry for a Queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When the did starve the general world beside, (8)
And prodigally gave them all to you.

Prin. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but means
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise ;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base fale of chapmen's tongues.
I am less proud to hear you

Than you much willing to be counted wise,
In spending 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 study shall 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 worthiness, we fingle you
As our best moving fair solicitor.
Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,
On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
Importunes personal conference with his Grace.
Halte, fignify so much, while we attend,
Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will.

Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. (Exito
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.

(8) When she did ftarve the general world beside,] Catullus has a compliment, much of this cast, to his Lesbia in his 87th epigram:

quæ cum pulcherrina tota est,
Tum anibus una omnes surripuit Veneres.


Prin. Know you the man?

Mar. I knew him, madam, at a marriage feast.
Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Faulconbridge folemnized.
In Normandy aw I this Longaville,
A man of lovereign parts he is esteemid;
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms,
Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
(If virtue's gloss will stain with any foil,)
Is a sharp wit, match'd with too blunt a will;
Whose edge hath pow'r to cut, whose will itill wills
It should spare none, that come within his power.

Prin. Some merry-mocking Lord, belike; ist fo ?
Mar. They say so moft, that most his humours know.

Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. Who are the reit?

Cath. The young Dumair, a well-accomplish'd youth,
Of all that virtue love, for virtue lov’d.
Most power to do moft harm, leaft knowing ill;
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
And shape to win grace, tho’ he had no wit.
I saw him at the Duke Alanson's once,
And much too little of that good I saw,
Is my report to his great worthiness.

Rosa. Another of these ftudents at that time
Was there with him, as I have heard a truth ;
Biron they call him; but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never fpent an hour's talk withal.
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object, that the one doth catch,
The other turns to a mirth moving jeft ;
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expofitor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales ;
And younger hearings are quite ravished;
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

Prin. God bless my Ladies, are they all in love,
every her own hath garnished


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