Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

If wounding, then it was to fhew my skill;
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And, out of question, 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 seek to fpill

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curft wives hold that felf-fovereignty
Only for praife-fake, when they strive to be

Lords o'er their Lords?

Prin. Only for praise; 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 greatest Lady, the higheft?

Prin. The thickeft and the talleft.

T Coft. The thickest and the tallest? it is so, truth is truth.
An your waste, mistress, were as flender as my wit,
One o' these maids girdles for your wafte fhould be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickeft here.
Prin. What's your will, Sir? what's your will?
Coft. I have a letter from Monfieur Biron, to one Lady
Rofaline.

Prin. O thy letter, thy letter: he's a good friend of mine. Stand afide, good bearer.-Boyet, you can carve; (19) Break

(19) Boyet, you can carve;

Break up this capon.] i. e. open this letter.

Our poet uses this metaphor, as the French do their poulet ; which fignifies both a young fowl, and a love letter. Poulet, amatoriæ litteræ; fays Richelet; and quotes from Voiture, repondre au plus obligeant poulet du monde; to reply to the moft obliging letter in the world. The Italians ufe the fame manner of expreffion, when they call a love-epiftle, una pollicetta amorofa. I ow'd the hint of this equivocal ufe of the word to my ingenious friend Mr. Bishop. I obferve in Weftwardboe, a comedy written

Break up this capon.

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 fwear.

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

Boyet reads.

Y heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible;

B true, that thou art beauteous; truth itfelf, 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 illuftrate King Cophetua fet eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly fay, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize in the vulgar, (O bafe 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. Το 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 enrich'd: on whofe fide? the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whofe fide? the 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 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 defign of industry,

Don Adriano de Armado.

written by a contemporary with our author, that one of these letters is likewife call'd a wild-fowl, Act. 2. Sc. 2.

At the skirt of that sheet in black work is wrought his name. Break not up the wild-fowl till anon,and then feed upon him in private.

Thus

Thus doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that ftandest 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.

[letter? Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited this What vane? what weathercock ? did you ever hear better? Boyet. I am much deceiv'd, but I remember the stile. 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?

Coff. I told you; my Lord.

Prin. To whom should'st thou give it ?

Coft. From my Lord to my Lady.

Prin. From which Lord to which Lady?

Coft. From my Lord Beroun, a good master of mine, To a Lady of France, that he call'd Rofaline.

Prin. Thou haft mistaken his letter. Come, Lords, away. Here, fweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day.. [Exit Princess attended. Boyet. Who is the fhooter? who is the shooter ? Roja. Shall I teach you to know?

Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.

Rofa. Why, he 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.

Rofa. Well then, I am the shooter.

Boyet. And who is your deer?

Rofa. If we chufe by horns, yourself; come not near. Finely put on, indeed.

Mar. You ftill wrangle with her, Boyet, and the ftrikes at the brow.

Boyet. But the herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now? Rofa. Shall I come upon thee with an old faying, that was a man when King Pippin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it.

Boyet

Boyet. So I may anfwer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.

Rofa. Thou can'ft not hit it, hit it, hit it. [Singing. Thou can'ft not hit it, my gcod man.

Boyet. An: I cannot, cannot, cannot; An I cannot, another can.

[Exit Rofa Coft. By my troth, most pleasant; how both did fit it. Mar. A mark marvellous well fhot ; for they both did hit

it.

Boyet. A mark? O, mark but that mark! a mark, fays my lady;

Let the mark have a prick in't, to meet at, if it may be. Mar. Wide o' th' bow-hand; i'faith, your hand is out. Coft. Indeed, a' must fhoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.

Boyet. An if my hand be out, then be like your hand is in. Coft. Then will the get the upshot by cleaving the pin. Mar. Come,come, you talk greafily; your lips grow foul. Coft. She's too hard for you at pricks, Sir, challenge

her to bowl.

owl.

Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; good night, my good [Exeunt all but Coftard. Coft. By my foul, a fuain; a moft fimple clown. Lord, Lord! how the Ladies and I have put him down O' my troth, most sweet jefts, moft incony vulgar wit, When it comes to smoothly off, fo obfcenely, as it were,

fo fit.

Armado o' th' one fide,- O, a most dainty man;
To fee him walk before a Lady, and to bear her fan.
To fee him kiss his hand, and how moft fweetly he will

fwear:

And his page o't' other fide, 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 fport, truly; and done in the teftimony of a good confcience..

Hol. The deer was (as you know) fanguis, in blood;

ripe as a pomwater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of Calo, the sky, the welkin, the heav'n; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of terra, the foil, the land, the earth.

Nath. "Truly, mafter Holofernes, the epithets are fweetly varied, like a scholar at the leaft: but, Sir, I affure ye, it was a buck of the first head.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket.

Hol. Moft barbarous intimation; yet a kind of infinuation, as it were in via, in way of explication; facere, as it were, replication; or rather, oftentare, to show, as it were, his inclination; after his undreffed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or rathereft unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.

Dull. Ifaid, the deer was not a haud credo; 'was a pricket. Hol. Twice fod fimplicity, bis coctus; O thou monster ignorance, how deformed doft thou look?

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed on the dainties that are bred in a book. He hath not eat paper as it were; he hath not drunk ink. His intellect is not replenished. He is only an animal, only fenfible in the duller parts; (20) and fuch barren plants are fet before us, that we thankful fhould be for thofe parts, (which we tafte and feel, ingradare) that do fructify in us, more than he. For as it would ill become me to be vain, indifcrees, or a fool;

So were there a patch fet on learning, to see him in a school. (20) And fuch barren plants are fet before us, that we thankful fhould be; which we tafte, and feeling are for thofe parts that do fruelify in us more than be.] If this be not a stubborn piece of nonfenfe, I'll never venture to judge of common fenfe. That editors fhould take fuch paffages upon content, is, furely, furprising. The words, 'tis plain, have been ridiculoufly, and ftupidly, tranfpos'd and corrupted. The emendation I have offer'd, I hope, reftores the author, at least, I am fure, it gives him fenfe and grammar: and answers extremely well to his metaphors taken from planting.—ingradare, with the Italians, fignifies, to rife higher and higher; andare di grado in grado, to make a progreffion; and fo at length come to fructify, as the poet expreffes it. Mr. Warburton.

But

« AnteriorContinuar »