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Boyet. I am bound to serve.This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin. Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

We will read it, I swear:

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 anatomise in the vulgar, (O 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?-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 weathercock? did you ever hear better?

Boyet. I am much deceived but I remember

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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 called Rosaline.

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

Here, sweet, put up this; 't will be thine another
day. [Exeunt 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.
Why, she that bears the bow.

Ros.

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!

Ros. Well then, I am the shooter.
Boyet. And who is your
deer?
Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come

not near.

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.

ROSALINE sings.

Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, Thou canst not hit it, my good man,

BOYET sings.

An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
An I cannot, another can,

[Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHArine. 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. 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.

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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, sanguis,—in 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.

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. "T was not a haud credo; 't was 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 shew, 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;

't was 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 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 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, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman 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. "T is true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.

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

Dull. And I say, the pollusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is never but a month old: and I say beside, that 't was a pricket that the princess killed.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humour the ignorant, I have called the deer the princess killed, 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 pierced and pricked a pretty pleasing pricket;

Some say, a sore; but not a sore, till now made

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memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater; and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutored 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 capable, I will put it to them. But, vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth us.

Enter JAQUENETTA and CoSTARD.

Juq. God give you good morrow, master person. 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: 't is 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 it.

Hol. Fauste, precor gelidá quando pecus omne

sub umbrá

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.

Hol. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse. Lege, domine.

NATHANIEL reads.

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?

Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed!

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove;

Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like

osiers bowed.

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine

eyes;

Where all those pleasures live that art would

comprehend:

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend:

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;

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(Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire ;)

Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,

Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire.

Celestial as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly 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 Birón, one of the strange queen's lords.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript.

Reads.

"To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline."

I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto :

Reads.

"Your Ladyship's in all desired employment,

"BIRON."

Sir Nathaniel, this Birón 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 COSTARD and JAQUENETTA. 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 colourable colours. 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 aforesaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I will prove those verses to be

very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your society.

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

Hol. And certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.-Sir [to DULL], I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay: pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another part of the same.

Enter BIRON, with a paper.

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in a pitch; pitch that defiles: defile! a foul word. Well, sit thee down, sorrow! for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep well proved again on my side! I will not love if I do, hang me; i' faith I will not. O, but her eye,-by this light, but for her eye I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper; God give him grace to groan.

[Gets up

into a tree.

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Biron [aside]. Shot, by heaven! — Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap.-I'faith, secrets. KING reads.

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright Through the transparent bosom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light: Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep; No drop but as a coach doth carry thee,

So ridest thou triúmphing in my woe: Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will shew: But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.

queen of queens, how far dost thou excel! No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.

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('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument), Persuade my heart to this false perjury?

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.

A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;

Thy grace, being gained, cures all disgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is:

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is:

If broken then, it is no fault of mine,
If by me broke. What fool is not so wise,
To lose an oath to win a paradise?

Biron. This is the liver vein, which makes

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must shine.

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[Aside.

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King. And I mine too, good lord! Biron. Amen, so I had mine. Is not that a [Aside.

good word?

Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remembered be. Biron. A fever in your blood; why, then incision Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision! [Aside. Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.

Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary

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Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wished himself the heaven's breath.
Air (quoth he), thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;

Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.

Do not call it sin in me,

That I am forsworn for thee:

Thou, for whom Jove would swear

Juno but an Ethiop were;

And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.

This will I send; and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
O, would the King, Birón, and Longaville,
Were lovers too!-Ill, to example ill,
Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note;
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

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