With fuch bedecking ornaments of praise? Enter Boyet. Prin. Now, what admittance, Lord? To let you enter his unpeopled house. Enter the King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and King. Fair Princefs, welcome to the Court of Na varre. Prin. Fair, I give you back again; and welcome I have not yet the roof of this Court is too high to be yours; and welcome to the wide fields, too bafe to be mine. King. You fhall be welcome, Madam, to my Court. But pardon me, I am too fudden bold : Vouchfafe to read the purpofe of my coming, King. Madam, I will, if fuddenly I may. Prin. You will the fooner, that I were away; For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Rof. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Biron. I know, you did. Rof. How needlefs was it then to ask the question? Biron. You must not be fo quick. Ref. "Tis long of you, that fpur me with fuch queftions. Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too faft, 'twill tire. Rof. Not 'till it leave the rider in the mire. Biron. What time o' day? Rofa. The hour that fools fhould ask. Biron. Now fair befall your mask! King. Madam, your father here doth intimate Difburfed by my father in his wars. But fay, that he, or we, as neither have, A hundred thousand more; in furety of the which, Although not valu'd to the money's worth: An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, (9) (9) And not demands One payment of an hundred thousand crowns, To bave his title live in Aquitain.] On The old books concur in this reading, and Mr. Pope has embraced it; tho', as I conceive, it is ftark nonfenfe, and repugnant to the sircumftance fuppos'd by our poet. I have, by reforming the pointing, and On payment of an hundred thousand crowns, Which we much rather had depart withal, Dear Princefs, were not his requests fo far Prin. You do the King my father too much wrong, Of that, which hath so faithfully been paid. Prin. We arreft your word: Boyet, you can produce acquittances King. Satisfy me fo. Boyet. So pleafe your Grace, the packet is not come, Where that and other fpecialties are bound: To-morrow you fhall have a fight of them. King. It fhall fuffice me; at which interview, Mean time, receive fuch welcome at my father for 20oooo crowns. and throwing out a fingle letter, reftor'd, I believe, the genuine fenfe of the paffage. Aquitain was pledg'd, it feems, to Navarre's The French King pretends to have paid one moiety of this debt, (which Navarre knows nothing of, but demands this moiety back again: instead whereof (fays Navarre) be fhould rather pay the remaining moiety, and demand to have Aqui tain redeliver'd up to him. This is plain and eafy reafoning upo the fact fuppos'd; and Navarre declares, he had rather receive the refidue of his debt, than detain the province mortgag'd for fecurity of it. As As you fhall deem yourfelf lodg'd in my heart, Your own good thoughts excufe me, and farewel; Prin. Sweet health and fair defires confort your Grace! I would be glad to see it. Biron. I would, you heard it groan. Biron. Sick at the heart? Rofa. Alack, let it blood. Biron. Would that do it good? Rofa. My phyfick fays, ay. Biron. Will you prick't with your eye? Biron. Now God fave thy life! [Exit. Long. Pray you, Sir, whofe daughter? (10) I have made it a rule throughout this edition, to replace all thofe paffages, which Mr. Pope in his impreflions thought fit to degrade. As we have no authority to call them in queftion for not being genuine; I confess, as an editor, to difplace them. Tho', I muft own freely at the fame time, there thought I had no authority are fome fcenes (particularly in this play; fo very mean and contemptible, that one would heartily with for the liberty of expunging them. Whether they were really written by our author, whether he penn'd them in his boyish age, or whether he purpofely comply'd with the prevailing vice of the times, when Puns, Conundrum, and quibbling conceits were as much in vogue, as Grimace and Arlequinades are at this wife period, I dare not take upon me to determine. VOL. II. Boyet. Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. Long. God's bleffing on your beard! Boyet. Good Sir, be not offended. She is an heir of Faulconbridge. Long. Nay, my choler is ended: She is a moft fweet Lady. Boyet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be. [Exit Long. cap p? Biron. What's her name in the Boyet. Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you. [Exit Biron. Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap Lord; Not a word with him but a jeft. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. And wherefore not fhips? No sheep, (fweet lamb) unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You fheep, and I pafture; fhall that finish the jest? Boyet. So you grant pafture for me. Mar. Not fo, gentle beast; My lips are no common, though feveral they be. Mar. To my fortunes and me. Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree. By the heart's ftill rhetorick, difclos'd with eyes, Prin. With what? Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected. Prin. Your reason ? Boyet. Why, all his behaviour did make her retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough defire: His heart, like an agat with your print impreffed, Proud |