King. Ay; the best for the worst. But, firrah, what fay you to this?

Coft. Sir, I confefs the wench.

King. Did you hear the proclamation?

Coft. I do confefs much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it.

King. It was proclaim'd a year's imprisonment to be taken with a wench,

Coft. I was taken with none, Sir, I was taken with a damofel.

King. Well, it was proclaimed damofel.

Coft. This was no damofel neither, Sir, fhe was a virgin.

King. It is fo varied too, for it was proclaim'd virgin.

Coft. If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with a maid.

King. This maid will not ferve your turn, Sir.
Coft. This maid will ferve my turn, Sir.

King. Sir, I will pronounce fentence; you shall fast a week with bran and water.

Coft. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.

King. And Don Armado fhall be your keeper. My lord Biron, fee him deliver'd o'er.

And go we, lords, to put in practice that,

Which each to other hath fo ftrongly fworn.

[Exeunt. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. Sirrah, come on.

Ceft. I fuffer for the truth, Sir: for true it is, I was. taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore welcome the four cup of profperity: affliction may one day fmile again, and until then, fit thee down, forrow. [Exeunt.

Arm.

B

SCENE VIII. i

Changes to Armado's Houfe.

Enter Armado, and Moth.

OY, what fign is it, when a man of
fpirit grows melancholy?

great

Moth. A great fign, Sir, that he will look fad. Arm. Why, fadnefs is one and the felf-fame thing, dear imp'.

Moth. No, no; O lord, Sir, no.

Arm. How can't thou part fadnefs and melancholy, my tender Juvenile ?

Moth. By a familiar demonftration of the working, my tough Signior.

Arm. Why, tough Signior? why, tough Signior? Moth. Why, tender Juvenile? why, tender Juvenile?

Arm. Ifpoke it, tender Juvenile, as a congruent epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I, tough Signior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. Arm. Pretty and apt.

Moth. How mean you, Sir, I pretty, and my fay ing apt? or I apt, and my faying pretty?

Arm. Thou pretty, because little.

Moth. Little! pretty, because little; wherefore apt?
Arm. And therefore apt, because quick.

Moth. Speak you this in my praise, mafter?
Arm. In thy condign praife.

dear Imp.] Imp was anciently a term of dignity. Lord Cromwel in his laft letter to Henry VIII. prays for the imp his fon. It is now used only in contempt

or abhorrence; perhaps in our authour's time it was ambiguous, in which ftate it fuits well with this dialogue.

Motb.

Moth. I will praife an eel with the fame praise.
Arm. What? that an eel is ingenious.

Moth. That an eel is quick.

Arm. I do fay, thou art quick in answers. Thou heat'ft my blood

Meth. I am answer'd, Sir.

Arm. I love not to be croft.

Moth. He fpeaks the clean contrary, croffes love

not him 2.

Arm. I have promis'd to ftudy three years with the King.

Moth. You may do it in an hour, Sir.
Arm. Impoffible.

Moth. How many is one thrice told?

Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fits the fpirit of a tapfter.

Moth. You are a gentleman and a gamester.

Arm. I confefs both; they are both the varnish of a compleat man.

Moth. Then, I am fure, you know how much the grofs fum of duce-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. Which the bafe vulgar call, three.
Arm. True.

Moth. Why, Sir, is this fuch a piece of ftudy? now here's three ftudied ere you'll thrice wink; and how eafy it is to put years to the word three, and ftudy three years in two words, the dancing-horfe will tell

you.

Arm. A most fine figure.

Moth. To prove you a cypher.

Arm. I will hereupon confefs, I am in love; and, as it is bafe for a foldier to love, fo I am in love with a bafe wench. If drawing my fword against the hu

croffes love not him.] to Celia, if I should bear you, fhould bear no cross,

By croes he means money. So like it, the Clown fays

in As you

mour

mour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Defire prifoner; and ranfom him to any French courtier for a new-devis'd curt'fy. I think it fcorn to figh; methinks, I fhould out-fwear Cupid. Comfort me, boy; what great men have been in love?

Moth. Hercules, mafter.

Arm. Moft fweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more; and, fweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.

Moth. Sampfon, mafter; he was a man of good carriage; great carriage; for he carried the town-gates on his back like a porter, and he was in love.

Arm. O well-knit Sampfon, ftrong-jointed Sampson! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Sampfon's love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, master.

Arm. Of what complexion?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precifely of what complexion?
Moth. Of the fea-water green, Sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions?

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, Sampfon had fmall reafon for it. He, furely, affected her for her wit.

Moth. It was fo, Sir, for fhe had a green wit.

Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Moft maculate thoughts, mafter, are mafk'd under fuch colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.
Moth. My father's wit, and my

affift me!

mother's tongue,

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child, moft pretty and

pathetica!!

Moth.

Moth. If the be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known;
For blufhing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale-white fhown;
Then if the fear, or be to blame,
By this you fhall not know;
For ftill her cheeks poffefs the fame,
Which native the doth owe.

A dangerous rhime, mafter, against the reafon of white and red.

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

Moth. The world was guilty of fuch a ballad fome three ages fince, but, I think, now 'tis not to be found; or if it were, it would neither ferve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have that fubject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digrellion by fome mighty prece dent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Coftard; he deferves well

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

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

Arm. I fay, fing.

Moth. Forbear, 'till this company is past.

SCENE IV.

Enter Coftard, Dull, Jaquenetta a Maid.

Dul, Sir, the King's pleasure is, that you keep Cof tard fafe, and you must let him take no delight, nor no penance; but he muft faft three days a-week. For this damfel, I must keep her at the park, fhe is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well.