With fuch bedecking ornaments of praise?
Mar. Here comes Boyet.

Enter Boyet.

Prin. Now, what admittance, Lord?
Boyet. Navarre had notice of your
fair approach;
And he and his competitors in oath
Were all addreft to meet you, gentle Lady,
Before I came : marry, thus much I've learnt,
He rather means to lodge you in the field,
Like one that comes here to befiege his Court,
Than feek a difpenfation for his oath,

To let you enter his unpeopled house.
Here comes Navarre.

Enter the King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and
Attendants.

King. Fair Princefs, welcome to the Court of Na

varre.

Prin. Fair, I give you back again; and welcome I have not yet the roof of this Court is too high to be yours; and welcome to the wide fields, too bafe to be mine.

King. You fhall be welcome, Madam, to my Court.
Prin. I will be welcome then; conduct me thither.
King. Hear me, dear Lady, I have fworn an oath.
Prin. Our Lady help my Lord; he'll be forfworn.
King. Not for the world, fair Madam, by my
will.
Prin. Why, Will fhall break its will, and nothing else.
King. Your Ladyfhip is ignorant what it is.
Prin. Were my Lord fo, his ignorance were wife,
Where now his knowledge muft prove ignorance.
I hear, your Grace hath fworn out houfe-keeping;
'Tis deadly fin to keep that oath, my Lord;
And fin to break it.

But pardon me, I am too fudden bold :
To teach a teacher ill befeemeth me.

Vouchfafe to read the purpofe of my coming,
And fuddenly refolve me in my fuit.

King. Madam, I will, if fuddenly I may. Prin. You will the fooner, that I were away; For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Rof. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Biron. I know, you did.

Rof. How needlefs was it then to ask the question? Biron. You must not be fo quick.

Ref. "Tis long of you, that fpur me with fuch queftions. Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too faft, 'twill tire. Rof. Not 'till it leave the rider in the mire.

Biron. What time o' day?

Rofa. The hour that fools fhould ask.

Biron. Now fair befall your mask!
Rofa. Fair fall the face it covers!
Biron. And fend you many lovers!
Rofa. Amen, fo you be none !
Biron. Nay, then will I be gone.

King. Madam, your father here doth intimate
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
Being but th' one half of an intire fum,

Difburfed by my father in his wars.

But fay, that he, or we, as neither have,
Receiv'd that fum; yet there remains unpaid

A hundred thousand more; in furety of the which,
One part of Aquitain is bound to us,

Although not valu'd to the money's worth:
If then the King your father will reftore
But that one half which is unfatisfy'd,
We will give up our right in Aquitain,
And hold fair friendship with his Majesty:
But that, it feems, he little purpofeth,
For here he doth demand to have repaid

An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, (9)

(9)

And not demands

One payment of an hundred thousand crowns,

To bave his title live in Aquitain.]

On

The old books concur in this reading, and Mr. Pope has embraced it; tho', as I conceive, it is ftark nonfenfe, and repugnant to the sircumftance fuppos'd by our poet. I have, by reforming the pointing,

and

On payment of an hundred thousand crowns,
To have his title live in Aquitain;

Which we much rather had depart withal,
And have the money by our father lent,
Than Aquitain fo gelded as it is.

Dear Princefs, were not his requests fo far
From reafon's yielding, your fair felf fhould make
A yielding 'gainst fome reafon in my breast;
And go well fatisfied to France again.

Prin. You do the King my father too much wrong,
And wrong the reputation of your name,
In fo unfeeming to confefs receipt

Of that, which hath so faithfully been paid.
King. I do proteft, I never heard of it;
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.

Prin. We arreft your word:

Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For fuch a fum, from fpecial officers
Of Charles his father.

King. Satisfy me fo.

Boyet. So pleafe your Grace, the packet is not come, Where that and other fpecialties are bound: To-morrow you fhall have a fight of them.

King. It fhall fuffice me; at which interview,
All liberal reafon I will yield unto :

Mean time, receive fuch welcome at my
hand,
As honour without breach of honour may
Make tender of, to thy true worthiness.
You may not come, fair Princefs, in my gates;
But here, without, you shall be so receiv'd,

father for 20oooo crowns.

and throwing out a fingle letter, reftor'd, I believe, the genuine fenfe of the paffage. Aquitain was pledg'd, it feems, to Navarre's The French King pretends to have paid one moiety of this debt, (which Navarre knows nothing of, but demands this moiety back again: instead whereof (fays Navarre) be fhould rather pay the remaining moiety, and demand to have Aqui tain redeliver'd up to him. This is plain and eafy reafoning upo the fact fuppos'd; and Navarre declares, he had rather receive the refidue of his debt, than detain the province mortgag'd for fecurity

of it.

As

As you fhall deem yourfelf lodg'd in my heart,
Tho' fo deny'd fair harbour in my house:

Your own good thoughts excufe me, and farewel;
To-morrow we fhall visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair defires confort your Grace!
King. Thy own with with I thee, in every place. [Exit.
Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. (10)
Rofa. I pray you, do my commendations ;

I would be glad to see it.

Biron. I would, you heard it groan.
Rofa. Is the fool fick ?

Biron. Sick at the heart?

Rofa. Alack, let it blood.

Biron. Would that do it good?

Rofa. My phyfick fays, ay.

Biron. Will you prick't with your eye?
Rofa. No, poynt, with my knife.

Biron. Now God fave thy life!
Rofa. And yours from long living!
Biron. I cannot stay thankfgiving.

[Exit.
Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word: what Lady is that lame?
Boyet. The heir of Alanfon, Rofaline her name.
Dum. A gallant Lady; Monfieur, fare you well. [Exit.
Long. I befeech you, a word: what is fhe in white?
Boyet. A woman fometimes, if you faw her in the light.
Long. Perchance, light in the light; I defire her name.
Boyet. She hath but one for herfelf; to defire That
were a fhame.

Long. Pray you, Sir, whofe daughter?

(10) I have made it a rule throughout this edition, to replace all thofe paffages, which Mr. Pope in his impreflions thought fit to degrade. As we have no authority to call them in queftion for not being genuine; I confess, as an editor, to difplace them. Tho', I muft own freely at the fame time, there thought I had no authority are fome fcenes (particularly in this play; fo very mean and contemptible, that one would heartily with for the liberty of expunging them. Whether they were really written by our author, whether he penn'd them in his boyish age, or whether he purpofely comply'd with the prevailing vice of the times, when Puns, Conundrum, and quibbling conceits were as much in vogue, as Grimace and Arlequinades are at this wife period, I dare not take upon me to determine.

VOL. II.

Boyet.

Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. Long. God's bleffing on your beard! Boyet. Good Sir, be not offended. She is an heir of Faulconbridge.

Long. Nay, my choler is ended: She is a moft fweet Lady.

Boyet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be. [Exit Long.

cap

p?

Biron. What's her name in the
Boyet. Catharine, by good hap.
Biron. Is fhe wedded or no?
Boyet. To her will, Sir, or fo.
Biron. You are welcome, Sir: adieu.

Boyet. Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you.

[Exit Biron.

Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap Lord;

Not a word with him but a jeft.
Boyet. And every jeft but a word.

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word.
Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board.
Mar. Two hot fheeps, marry.

Boyet. And wherefore not fhips?

No sheep, (fweet lamb) unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You fheep, and I pafture; fhall that finish the jest? Boyet. So you grant pafture for me.

Mar. Not fo, gentle beast;

My lips are no common, though feveral they be.
Boyet. Belonging to whom?

Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree.
This civil war of wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd.
Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies)

By the heart's ftill rhetorick, difclos'd with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected. Prin. Your reason ?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviour did make her retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough defire: His heart, like an agat with your print impreffed,

Proud