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de Earl, de Knight, de Lords, de Gentlemen, my patients.

Hojt. For the which I will be thy adversary toward
Anne Page : said I well ?

Caius. By gar, 'tis good; vell said.
Hoft. Let us wag then.
Caius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. [Exeunt.

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and friend Simple by your name, which way have you look'd for master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of Physick ?

Simp. Marry, Sir, the Pitty-wary, the Park-ward, every way, old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.

Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also look that way.

Simp. I will, Sir.

Eva. 'Pless my soul, how full of cholars I am, and trempling of mind! I shall be glad, if he have deceiv'd me; how melanchollies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's coftard, when I have good opportunities for the orke: 'Pless

my

foul!

[Sings, being afraid By Swallow rivers, to whose falls

Melodious birds sing madrigalls ;
VOL. II.

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There will we make our peds of roses ;

And a thousand vagrant posies 3. By shallow 'Mercy on me! I have a great dispofitions to cry. Melodious birds fing madrigalls, When as I sat in Pabilon ;--and a thousand vagrant pofies. -By shallow, &c.

Simp. Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh.

Eva. He's welcome. By shallow rivers, to whose fallsHeav'n profper the right! what weapons is he?

Simp. 3. By Mallow rivers, &c.] poem, and the anfwer to it, This is part of a beautiful little the reader will not be displeased poem of the author's, which to find here.

The Pasionate Shepherd to his Love.
Come live with me, and be my Love,
And we will all the Pleasure prove,
That Hills and Vallies, Dale and Field,
And all the craggy Mountains yield.
There will we fit upon the Rocks,
And see the Shepherds feed their Flocks,
By shallow Rivers, by whose Falls
Melodious Birds fing Madrigalls:
There will I make thee Beds of Roses,
And then a thousand fragrant Posies
A Cap of Flowers, and a Kirtle
Imbroider'd all with leaves of Myrtle ;
A Gown made of the fineft Wool,
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull ;
Fair lined Slippers for the Cold,
With Buckles of the purest Gold ;
A Belt of Straw, and Ivy-Buds,
With Coral Clasps, and Amber Studs.
And if these Pleasures may

thee moye,
Come live with me, and be

my

Love.
Thy silver Dishes for thy Meat,
As precious as the Gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory Table be
Prepar'd each Day for thee and me.
The Shepherds Swains shall dance and fing,
For thy Delight each May Morning.
If thefe Delights thy Mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my Love.

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Simp. No weapons, Sir; there comes my master Mr. Shallow, and another gentleman from Frogmore, over the stile, this way.

Eva. Pray you; give me thy gown, or elfe-keep it in your arms.

SCENE 11. Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender: Shal, How now, master Parson? good morrow, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student from his book, and it is wonderful:

The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd.
If all the World and Love were young;
And Truth in every Shepherd's Tongue ;
These pretty Pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy Love:
But Time drives Flocks from Field to Fold,
When Rivers rage, and Rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of Cares to come :
The Flowers do fade, and wanton Fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields.
A honey Tongue, a Heart of Gall,
Is Fancy's Spring, but Sorrow's Fall.
Thy Gowns, thy Shoes, thy Bed of Roses,
Thy Cap, thy Kirtle, and thy Pofies;
Şoon break, Toon wither, foon forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.
Thy Belt of Straw, and Ivy-Buds,
Thy Coral Clasps, and Amber Studs,
All these in me no means can move,
To come to thee, and be thy Love.
What should we talk of Dainties then,
Of better Meat than's fit for Men ?
These are but vain : that's only good
Which God hath blest, and sent for Food.
But could Youth last, and Love ftill breed,
Had Joys no date, and Age no need;
Then these Delights my Mind might move,

To live with thee, and be thy Love. These two Poems, which Dr. Other to Raleigh. These Poems Warburton gives to Shakespeare, are read in different Copics with are, by Writers nearer that time, great Variations, disposed of, one to Marlow, the

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Slen.

Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page !
Page. Save you, good Sir Hugh.
Eva. 'Pless you from his mercy-fake, all of you:
Shal. What ? the sword and the word ? do you

Itudy them both, Mr. Parson?

Page. And youthful ftill, in your doublet and hose, this raw-rheumatick day?

Eva. There is reasons and causes for it.

Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, Mr. Parfon.

Eva. Ferry well : what is it?

Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who belike, having receiv'd wrong by some person, is at most odds with his own gravity and patience, that ever you saw.

Shal. I have liv'd fourscore years, and upward ; I never heard a man of his place, gravity and learning, fo wide of his own respect.

Eva. What is he?

Page. I think you know him ; Mr. Doctor Caius, the renowned French physician.

Eva. Gol's will, and his passion of my heart! I had as lief you would tell nie of a mess of porridge.

Page. Why?

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen ; and he's a knave besides ; a cowardly knave as you would desire to be acquainted withal.

Page. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him.

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page !

SCE N E PII.

Enter Hoft, Caius, and Rugby.

Shal. It appears so, by his weapons.—Keep them asunder-here comes Doctor Caius. Page. Nay, good Mr. Parson, keep in your weapon.

Shal,

Shal: So do you, good Mr. Doctor.

Hoft. Disarm them, and let them question ; let them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. · Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear : wherefore vil you not meet-a me?

Eva. Pray you, use your patience. In good time.

Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.

Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stocks to other men's humours. I desire you in friendship, and will one way or other make you amends; I will knog your urinal about your knave's cogs-comb, for missing your meetings and appointments.

Caius. Diable ! Jack Rugby, mine Hoft de Jarterre, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have I not, at de place I did appoint ?

Eva. As I am a christian's soul, now look you, this is the place appointed ; I'll be judgment by mine Host of the Garter.

Hoft. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welch, foul-curer and body-curer.

Caius. Ay, dat is very good, excellent.

Hojt. Peace, I fay; hear mine Host of the Garter: Am I politick ? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel ? shall I lose my Doctor ? no; he gives me the porions and the motions. Shall I lose my Parson? my Priest? my Sir Hugh? no; he gives me the proverbs and the no verbs. --Give me thy hand, terrestial; fo.--Give me thy hand, celestial ; fo. Boys of art, I have deceiv’d you both : I have directed you to wrong places : your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and ler burn'd fack be the issue. Come, lay your swords to pawn. Follow me, lad of

peace. Follow, follow, follow.

Shal. Trust me, a mad Hoft.-Follow, gentlemen, follow. Slen. O, sweet Anne Page! [Exeurt Shal. Slen, Page and Host.

Caius.

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