This Signior Junio's giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid,
Regent of love-rhimes, lord of folded arms,
Th anointed Sovereign of fighs and groans:
Leige of all loyterers and malecontents:
Dread Prince of plackets, King of codpieces:
Sole Imperator, and great General

Of trotting parators: (O my little heart!)
And I to be a corporal of his File,

And wear his colours! like a tumbler, stoop!
What? I love! I fue! I feek a wife!
A Woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a repairing; ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch'd, that it may ftill go right!
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all:
And, among three, to love the worst of all;
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,

With two pitch balls ftuck in her face for eyes;
Ay, and by heav'n, one that will do the deed,
Tho' Argus were her eunuch and her guard;
And I to figh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! go to:-It is a plague,
That Cupid will impofe for my neglect
Of his almighty, dreadful, little, Might.
Well, I will love, write, figh, pray, fue and groan:
Some men muft love my lady, and fome Joan. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A Pavilion in the Park near the Palace. Enter the Princefs, Rosaline, Maria, Catharine, Lords, Attendants, and a Forefler.

PRINCESS.

W Against the fteep upriling of the hill?

7AS that the King that spurr'd his horfe fo hard

Signior Junio's] By this is meant Youth in general.

0 3

Boyet.

Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he. Prin. Who e'er he was, he fhew'd a mounting mind.

Well, lords, to day we shall have our dispatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.

Then Forefter, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murtherer in?
For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A ftand, where you may make the fairest shoot.

Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair, that shoot :
And thereupon thou speak'ft the fairest fhoot.

For. Pardon me, madam: for I meant not fo.
Prin. What, what? firft praise me, then again fay,

no?

O fhort-liv'd pride! not fair? alack, for woe!
For. Yes, madam, fair.

Prin. Nay, never paint me now;

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
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, fee, my beauty will be fav'd by merit. O herefy in fair, fit for these days!

A giving hand, though foul, fhall have fair praise.
But come, the bow; now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I fave my credit in the fhoot,
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 queftion, fo it is fometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detefted crimes;

When for fame's fake, for praife, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart.
As I for praise alone now feek to fpill

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curft wives hold that self-sovereignty

Only

1

f

Only for praise-fake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praife; and praise we may afford To any lady, that fubdues her lord.

Enter Coftard.

Boyet. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

Coft. God dig-you-den all; pray you, which is the head lady?

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the reft that have no heads.

Coft. Which is the greateft lady, the higheft?
Prin. The thickeft and the tallest.

Coft. The thickest and the tallest? it is fo, truth is
truth.

* An'
my wafte, mistress, were as flender as your wit,
One o' thefe maids girdles for my wafte fhould be fit.
Are not you the chief woman ? you are the thickest

here.

Prin. What's your will, Sir? what's your will? Coft. I have a letter from Monfieur Biron, to one lady Rofaline.

Prin. Othy letter, thy letter: he's a good friend

of mine.

Stand afide, good bearer.-Boyet, you can carve;
Break up this capon.

Boyet. I am bound to serve.

This letter is miftook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

An' your waste, mistress, were as flender as my wit,

One o' thefe maids girdles for your waste fhould be fit.] And was not one of her Maid's Girdles fit for her? It is plain that my and your have all the Way changed Places, by fome Accident or other; and that the Lines fhould be read thus,

An' my wafte, miftrefs, was as flender as your wit,
One of thefe maids girdles for my wafte fhould be fit.

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Prin.

Prin. We will read it, I fwear.

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

Boyet reads.

PY 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 beauteous, truer than truth itself; have commiferation on thy heroical vaffal. The magnanimous and moft illustrate King Cophetua fet eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize in the vulgar, (0 base and obfcure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, faw, and overcame; he came, one; faw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the King. Why did he come? to fee. Why did he fee? to overcome. To whom came he? to the beggar. What faw he? the beggar. Who overcame he? the beggar. The conclufion is victory; on whofe fide? the King's; the captive is inrich d: on whofe fide? the beggar's. The cataftrophe is a nuptial: on whofe fide? the King's? no, on both in one, or one in both: I am the King, (for fo flands the comparifon) thou the beggar, for fo witneffeth thy lowlinefs. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What fhalt thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? titles: for thyfelf? 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

'Gainft thee, thou lamb, that flandeft as his prey; Submiffive fall his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play.

But if thou ftrive (poor foul) what art thou then? Food for his rage, repafture 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 ftile.

Prin. Elfe your memory is bad, going o'er it ere while.

Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in Court,

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

Prin. Thou, fellow, a word:

Who gave thee this letter?

Coft. I told you; my lord.

Prin. To whom should'ft thou give it?

Coft. 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 call'd Rosaline.

Prin. Thou haft mistaken his letter. Come, lords,

away.

Here, fweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day. [Exit Princefs attended. Boyet. Who is the fhooter? who is the fhooter? Rof. Shall I teach you to know?

Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.

Rof. Why, the 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 mifcarry. Finely put on..

Rof. Well then, I am the fhooter.

Boyet. And who is your Deer?

Rof. If we chufe by horns, yourself; come not

near.

Finely put on, indeed.

05

Mar.