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Here, good my glafs, 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, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O herefie in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair pruise.
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 leek to spill

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

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

Enter Coftard.
Boyet. Here comes a member of the common.

Coft. 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.

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

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

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


Coft. I have a letter from Monsieur Biron, to one lady

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

mine. Stand aside, good bearer. - Boyet, you can carve; (15) Ereak


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

Prin. 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 ;

true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely; more fairer than fair, beautiful than beau. teous, truer than truth itself; have commiseration on thy heroical vallal. The magnanimous and moft illoftrate King Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon ; and he it was that might rightly lay, veni, vidi, vici ; which to anatomize in the vulgar, lo base and obscure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, law, and overcame; he came, one ; saw, two ; overcame, three. Who came? the King? Why did he comes to see. Why did he fee? 10 over. come. To whom came hes to the beggar. What law he ? the beggar. Who overcame he? the beggar. The conclufion is victory ; on whofe 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 ibis Capon.] i. e. open this Letter. Our Poet uses this Metaphor, as the French do their Poulet ; which fignifies both a young Fow), and a love-letter. Poulet, amatoria Litteræ ; says Ricbelet : and quotes from Voiture, fondre au plus obligeant Poulet du Monde ; To reply to the most obliging Letter in the World, The Italians use the same manBer of Expresfion, when they call a Love. Epiftle, una Polli. cetta amorosa. I ow'd the Hint of this equivocal use of the Word to my ingenious Friend Ms, Bipop.

King's ? no, on both in one, or one in both : I am the King, (for fo ftands the comparison) thou the beggar, for fo 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 titties? titles : for thy felf? 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 doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that ftandeft 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, repasture 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 file. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere

Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in

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

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

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

Coft. From my lord Berown, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France, that he callid Rosaline,
Prin. Thou haft mistaken his letter. Come, lords,


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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.
Rof. Why, Me 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.

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


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

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

now? Ref. 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 cani ft not hit it, hit it, hit it, [Singing. Thou can't not hit it, my good man.

Boyet. An' I cannot, cannot, cannot ; An' I cannot, another can. 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 oth bow-hand; i'faith, your hand is Coft. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er bit

the clout. Boyet. An' if my hand be out, then, belike, your hand is in.


(Exit Ror,

may be.


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Coft. Then will the get the upfhot by cleaving the

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

Coft. She's too hard for you at pricks, Sir, challenge

her to bowl,
Bojet. I fear too much rubbing; good night my
good owl.

[Exeunt all but Coftard.
Coft. By my foul, å swain; a most fimple clown!
Lord, Lord ! how the ladies and I have put him down!
O’ my troth, moft sweet jefts, moft in.cony vulgar wit,
When it comes fo smoothly off, fo obscenely : as it
Armado oth 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 moft sweetly he

will fwear :
And his Page o’t’other side, that handful of Wit ;
Ah, heav'ns! it is a moft pathetical Nit.

Exit Coftard.

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

Hol. The deer was (as you know) fanguis, 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, mafter Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied, like a fcholar at the least: þut, Sir, I affure ye, it was a buck of the first head.

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

Hal. Most barbarous intimations yet a kind of infi. nuation, as it were in via, in way of explications facere, as it were, replications or rather, oftentare, to show, as it were his inclination ; after his undressed unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather


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