Biron. You are welcome, sir; adieu!
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
[Exit BIRON.-Ladies unmask.
Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord;
Not a word with him but a jest.
Boyet.
And every jest but a word.
Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his
word.

Boyet. I was willing to grapple, as he was to board.
Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry.
Boyet.

And wherefore not ships! No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. Mar You sheep, and I pasture; Shall that finish the jest?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. [Offering to kiss her. Mar. Not so, gentle beast; My lips are no common, though several they be. Boyet. Belonging to whom?

Mar.

To my fortunes and me. Prin. Good wits will be jangling: 'but, gentles,

agree;

The civil war of wits were much better used
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused.
Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,)
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. Prin. Your reason?

Boyet. Why all his behaviors did make their retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:

His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair
To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who, tendering their own worth, from where they
were glass'd,

Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes:
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd--
Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye
hath disclos'd:

I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st
skilfully.

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.

Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?
Mar.

Boyet.

No.

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.

Boyet.

SCENE I.-The Park, near the Palace.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

Moth. Concolinel[Singing. Arm. Sweet air!-Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?2

Arm. How mean'st thou? brawling in French? Moth. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary3 to it with your feet, humor it with turning up your eye-lids: sigh a note, and sing a note; sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love; sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your bands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away: These are complements, these are humors; these betray nice wenches--that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of note (do you note, men?) that are most affected to these.

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience?
Moth. By my penny of observation.
Arm. But 0,-but 0,-
Moth.-the hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm. Callest thou my love hobby-horse?

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

Arm. Almost I had.

What then, do you see?

You are too hard for me. [Exeunt.

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove.

Arm. What will that prove?

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her: and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A message well sympathised; a horse to be ambassador for an ass!

Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou? Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow gaited: But I go. Arm. The way is but short; away. Moth. As swift as lead, sir. Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious? Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? Moth. Minimè, honest master; or rather, master Arm. I say, lead is slow. Moth.

[no.

You are too swift, sir, to say so; Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun? Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric: He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he :I shoot thee at the swain. [Erit.

Thump then, and I flee.

Moth.
Arm. A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy, and the word, l'envoy, for a salve!

Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve?

Arm. No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse to nake plain

Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it:

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.

There's the moral: Now the l'envoy.

Moth. I will add the l'envoy: Say the moral again. Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three: Moth. Until the goose came out of door, And stay'd the odds by adding four. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three: Arm. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four. Moth. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose: Would you desire more?

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat:

Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose: Let me see a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose. Arm. Come hither, come hither: How did this argument begin?

Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a Then call'd you for the l'envoy. [shin. Cost. True, and I for a plantain: Thus came your argument in;

Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you And he ended the market. [bought;

Arm. But tell me; how was there a Costard broken in a shin?

Moth. I will tell you sensibly.

Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that l'envoy:

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.

Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. Cost. O,, marry me to one Frances:-I smell some l'envoy, some goose, in this.

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.

Cost. True, true; and now you will be my purration, and let me loose.

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: Bear this significant to the country maid Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; [Giving him money.] for the best ward of mine honor, is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. Moth Like the sequel, I.-Signior Costard, adieu.

An old French term for concluding verses, which served either to convey the moral, or to address the poem to some person.

Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew![Exit MOTH. Now will I look to his remuneration. Remunera tion! O, that's the Latin word for three farthing: three farthings-remuneration.-What's the price of this inkle? a penny :—No, I'll give you a re muneration: why, it carries it.-Remuneration !— why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word. Enter BIRON.

Biron. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon
may a man buy for a remuneration?
Biron. What is a remuneration?
Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing.
Biron. O, why then, three-farthings-worth of silk.
Cost. I thank your worship: God be with you!
Biron. O, stay, slave; I must employ thee.
As thou wilt win my favor, good my knave,
Do one thing for ine that I shall entreat.

Cost. When would you have it done, sir?
Biron. O, this afternoon.

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: Fare you well.
Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is.
Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first.
Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow
morning.

Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this;

The princess comes to hunt here in the park,
And in her train there is a gentle lady; [name,
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her
And Rosaline they call her: ask for her;
And to her white hand see thou do commend
This seal'd up counsel. There's thy guerdon;"
[Gives him money.

go.

Cost. Guerdon,-O sweet guerdon! better than remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most sweet guerdon !—I will do it, sir, in print.-Guer don-remuneration. [Exit

Biron. O! And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip;

A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
A critic; nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This whimpled," whining, purblind, wayward boy
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets,' king of cod-pieces,
Sole imperator, and great general
Of trotting paritors,2-O my little heart!-
And I to be a corporal of his field,
And wear his colors like a tumbler's hoop!
What? I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
A woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a repairing; ever out of frame;
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch'd that it may still go right?
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all;
And, among three, to love the worst of all;
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,

With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes; Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed, Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard: And I sigh to sigh for her! to watch for her! To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague

SCENE I-A Pavilion in a Park.

That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his most almighty dreadful little might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan;
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.

Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHA-
RINE, BOYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester.
Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his horse
Against the steep uprising of the hill?
[so hard
Boyet. I know not; but I think, it was not he.
Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting
mind.

Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.-
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murderer in?
For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot.
Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot.

For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so..
Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say,
O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe! [no?
For. Yes, madam, fair.
Prin.
Nay, never paint me now;
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true;
[Giving him money.
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresy in fair, fit for these days!

A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.-
But come, the bow:-Now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes;
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart:
As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sove-

reignty

Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford To any lady that subdues a lord.

Enter CoSTARD.

Prin. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

Cost God dig-you-den' all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest

that have no heads.

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? Prin. The thickest, and the tallest.

Cost. The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.

God give you good even.

be fit.

[Exit

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, One of these maids' girdles for your waist should Are not you the chief woman? you are the thick [est here. Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will? Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Birón, to one lady Rosaline.

Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friena of mine:

Stand aside, good bearer.-Boyet, you can carve;
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 swear: Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. Boyet. [Reads.] By 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 commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize in the vulgar, (0 base and obscure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame; he came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the king: Why did he come? to see: Why did he see? to overcome: To whom came he ? to the beggar: What saw he? the beggar: Who overcame he? the beggar: the conclusion is victory; On whose side? the king's: The captive is enriched; On whose side? the beggar's: The catastrophe is a nuptial; On whose side? the king's ?-no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison: thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I'may: Shall I enforce thy love? I could: Shall I entreat thy love? Iwill. 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 ARMA 90% 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? [better? What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the

style. [erewhile. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;

• Just now.

Thou, fellow, a word:

A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the prince, and his book-mates.
Prin.
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 Birón, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.

Prin. Thou hast mistaken this 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! [marry, Boyst. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. 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! [near. 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.

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! I'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; challenge her to bowl.

Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; Good night, my good owl. [Exeunt BOYET and MARIA. Cest. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! Lord, lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! [wit! O'my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.

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 cœlo,-the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab, on the face of terra,-the soil, the land, the earth.

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

Hol. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus!-O 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 hun 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 bookmen: 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

A species of apple.

To render some of the allusions in this scene intelligible to persons who are not acquainted with the language of park-keepers and foresters, it may be necessary to mention, that a fawn, when it is a year old, is called by them a pricket: when it is two years old, it is a sorel; when it is three years old, it is a sore; when it is four years, it is a buck of the first head; at five years, it is an old buck. Reached. A low fellow.

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

Hol. God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion holds the exchange.

Dull. And I say the pollution holds in the exchange; for the moon is never but a month old: and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the princess kill'd.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humor the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess kill'd a pricket.

Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.

Hol. I will something affect the letter; for it argues facility.

The praiseful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing pricket;

Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting.

The dogs did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket;

If

Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall a hooting.

sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores; O sore L!

Of one sure I an hundred make, by adding but one more L.

Nath. A rare talent!

Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent.

tongue!

Hol. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified; but for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso; but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari, is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired' horse his rider. But damosella virgin, was this directed to you?

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen's lords.

ful for it.

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutor❜d by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you: you are a good member of the commonwealth. Hol. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want no instruction: if their daughters be ca

pable, I will put it to them: But, vir sapit, qui pauca loquitur: a soul feminine saluteth us.

Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTaRd. Jaq. God give you good morrow, master parson. Hol. Master person, quasi pers-on. And if one should be pierced, which is the one?

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead.

Hol. Of piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine: 'tis pretty; it is well.

Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armatho: I beseech you, read.

Hol. Fauste, precor gelidá quando pecus omne sub umbrâ Ruminat, and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan: I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice! Vinegia, Vinegia,

Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia. Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who understandeth

thee not, loves thee not.-Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, rather, as Horace says in his-What, my soul, verses? Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.

the person written unto :

Your ladyship's in all desired employment, BIRON. Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the king; and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king; it may concern much: Stay not thy compliment: I forgive thy duty; adieu. Jaq. Good Costard, go with me.-Sir, God save your life!

Cost. Have with thee, my girl.

[Exeunt CosT. and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain father saith

Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colorable colors. But, to return to the verses; Did they please you, sir Nathaniel?

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine; where if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto, where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savoring of poetry, wit, nor invention: I beseech your society.

Nath. And thank you too: for society, (saith the text,) is the happiness of life.

cludes it.-Sir, [Te DULL.] I do invite you too; Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly con