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I could: Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; For tittles, titles; For thyself, me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane 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 dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest 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 weather.cock? did you ever hear

better? Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the

style. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere

while.. Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps

here in court; A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes

sport To the prince, and his book-mates. Prin.

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

I told you; my lord. Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it? Cost.

From

my

lord to my lady. Prin. From which lord, to which lady?

Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine; To a lady of France, that he callid Rosaline.

prewhile.] Just now; a little while

ago. a Monarcho;] The allusion is to a fantastical character of the time.

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

away. Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day.

[Exit Princess and Train. Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor? Ros. Shall I teach you to know? Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. Ros.

Why, she 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 mis

carry. Finely put on!

Ros. Well then, I am the shooter.
Boyet.

And who is your deer?
Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come
Finely put on, indeed! -
Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she

strikes at the brow. Boyet. But she herself is hit lower: Have I hit

her now? Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when king Pepin 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 Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it. Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, (Singing.

Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
An I cannot, another can.

[Exeunt Ros. and Kath.

near.

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queen Guinever -] This was king Arthur's queen, not over famous for fidelity to her husband.

Cost. 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 mete at, if it may be. Mar. Wide o' the bow hand!3 l’faith your hand

is out. Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er

hit the clout. Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your

hand is in. Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving

the pin.

Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily,' your lips

grow foul.

Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; chal

lenge her to bowl. Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; Good night, my good owl.

[Exeunt Boyer and MARIA. Cost. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! Lord, lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar

wit! When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it

were, so fit. Armatho o' the one side,-0, a most dainty man! To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan! To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a'

will swear!

Wide o' the bow hand!] i. e. a good deal to the left of the mark; a term still retained in modern archery.

the clout.] The clout was the white mark at which archers took aim. The pin was the wooden nail that upheld it.

you talk greasily,] i. e. grossly.

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And his page o't'other side, that handful of wit !
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
Sola, sola!

[Shouting within. [Exit CoSTARD, running.

SCENE II.

The same.

Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and Dull.

Nath. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience.

Hol. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis,blood; ripe as a pomewater," who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of cælo,—the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab, on the face of terra,—the soil, the land, the earth.

Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: But, sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.

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

Hol. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion,—to insert again my haud credo for a deer.

6 Enter Holofernes,) By Holofornes is designed a pedant and schoolmaster of our author's time, one John Florio, a teacher of the Italian tongue in London, who has given us a small dictionary of that language under the title of A World of Words.

- ripe as a pomewater,] A species of apple formerly much esteemed. Malus Carbonaria.

Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.

Hol. Twice sod simplicity, bis coclus !–0 thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of 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 sensible in the duller parts ; And such barren plants are set before us, that we

thankful should be (Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts

that do fructify in us more than he. For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet,

or a fool, So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him

in a school: But, omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind, Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind.

Dull. You two are book-men: Can you tell by

your wit,

What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not

five weeks old as yet? Hol. Dictynna, good man Dull; Dictynna, good

man Dull.

Dull. What is Dictynna?
Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.
Hol. The moon was a month old, when Adam

was no more; And raught not to five weeks, when he came to

fivescore. The allusion holds in the exchange.'

Dull. 'Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.

8 — a patch -] Patch, or low fellow. 9 And raught not -] i. e. reach'd not. ' The allusion holds in the erchange.] i. e. the riddle is as good when I use the name of Adam, as when I use the name of Cain.

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