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 herefie 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 shoot,
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 spill

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curft wives hold that self sovereignty
Only for praife-fake, when they ftrive 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 common. wealth.

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 highest?

Prin. The thickeft and the tallest.

Coft. The thickest and the talleft it is fo, truth is truth.

An' your waste, mistress, were as flender as my wit, One o' these maids girdles for your waste should be fit. Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest

here.

Prin. What's your will, Sir? what's your will?

Coft

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; (15) Ereak up this capon.

Boyet. I am bound to ferve.

This letter is miftook, 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.

BY

Boyet reads.

Y 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 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. 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 catastrophe is a nuptial: on whofe fide the (15) Boyet, you can carve:

Break up this Capon.] i. e. open this Letter.

Our Poet ufes this Metaphor, as the French do their Poulet ; which fignifies both a young Fowl, and a love-letter. Poulet, amatoria Litteræ ; fays Ricbelet: and quotes from Veiture, Répondre 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 use of the Word to my ingenious Friend Mr, Bishop.

King's?

King's? no, on both in one, or one in both: I am the King, (for fo ftands 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 ? robes; for tittles? titles for thy felf? me. Thus expecting thy reply, I prophane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part.

rags

:

Thine in the deareft defign of induftry,

Don Adriano de Armado.

Thus doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar
'Gainft thee, thou lamb, that standeft as his
Submiffive fall his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play.

prey;

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 file.
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 fhould'it thou give it ?

Coft. From my lord to my lady.

Prin. From which lord to which lady?

Coft. From my lord Berown, a good mafter of mine,

To a lady of France, that he call'd Rofaline,
Prin. Thou haft mistaken his letter.

away.

Come, lords,

Here,

Here, fweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day.
[Exit Princefs attended.
Boyet. Who is the fhooter who is the shooter?
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 miscarry. Finely put on.

Rof. Well then, I am the fhooter.
Boyet. And who is your Deer?

Rof. If we chufe by horns, your felf;
Finely put on, indeed.

Mar. You fill wrangle with her, ftrikes at the brow.

Boyet. But the her self is hit lower. now?

come not near.

Boyet, and the

Have I hit her

Rof. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pippin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?

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.

Rof. Thou can't not hit it, hit it, hit it.

Thou can't not hit it, my good man.

Boyet. An' I cannot, cannot, cannot ;

An' I cannot, another can.

[Singing.

[Exit Rof.

Coft. By my troth, moft pleafant; 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' muft fhoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.

Boyet. An' if my hand be out, then, belike, your hand is in.

Coft. Then will fhe 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.

Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; good night my good owl. [Exeunt all but Costard. Coft. By my foul, à fwain; a most fimple clown! Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! O' my troth, moft fweet jefts, moft in-cony vulgar wit, When it comes fo fmoothly off, fo obfcenely; as it were, so 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 kifs 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 sport, 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 fcholar 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.

Hal. Moft barbarous intimation; yet a kind of inf nuation, as it were in via, in way of explications facere, as it were, replication; or rather, oftentare, to show, as it were his inclination; after his undreffed unpolifhed, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather

unlet