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Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he.

Prin. Who'er he was, he show'd a mount-
ing 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

A stand, when 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, no?

O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe!
For. Yes, madam, fair.

Prin. Nay, never paint me now;
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the


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 in-

Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by

O heresy in fair, fit for these days!

A giving hand, though foul, shall bave fair

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

And, out of question, so it is sometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes;

When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward

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

Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-

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.


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Prin. We will read it, I swear : Break the neck of the wax, and every one give Boyet. [Reads.] By heaven that thou art fair, is most infallible; true that thou are 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 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 enrich'd; 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; Thus, For tittles, titles; For thyself, me. 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 in-
dited this letter?

What vane? what weather-cock? did you ever hear better?

Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the style,

Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile. +

Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;

A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes

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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? Biron. 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. 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.

Armatho o'the one side,-Oh! a most dainty man!

To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan!

To see him kiss his hand; and how most sweetly a' will swear!-

And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit! Ah! heavens, it is a most pathetical hit! Sola, sola ! [Shouting within. [Exit COSTARD, running.


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 calo,-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



plication; facere, as it were, replication, or rather ostentare, to show, as it were, bis inclination after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, uupruned, 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 !-0 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' mind,

Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind.

Dull. You two are book-men: Can you tel 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 Phœbe, to Luna, to the


Hol. The moon was a month old, when Adair. was no more;

And raught + not to five weeks, when he came to fivescore.

The allusion holds in the exchange.

Dull. 'Tis true indeed; the coliusion holds the exchange.

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

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

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

Nath. Perge, good master Holoferness, perge so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. Hot. 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 mude sore with shooting.

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

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

If sore

Of one

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

sore 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.

Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. revolutions: these are begot in the ventricle of Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket. memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater; Hol. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind and deliver'd upon the mellowing of occasion: of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of ex-But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute,

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and I am thankful for it.

nay my parishioners; for their sons are well Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so

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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 it.

Hol. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra

Ruminat, and so forth. Ah! good old Man tuan! 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.

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

Ah! never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd!

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 sball suffice;

Well learned is that tongue, that well thee commend :


All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without


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

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


Which, not to auger 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 Biron, one of the strange queen's lords.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript. To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline. I will look again on the intellect Horse adorned with ribands

of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to 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, accidently, or by the way of progression, hath miscaried.-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, 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 colourable colours. But, to return to the ver ses; 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 bave with the parents of the foresaid 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 pitch'd a toil; I am toiling in a pitch; pitch that defiles; defile! a foul word. Well, Set 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. Oh! 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 aiready; 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.

Enter the KING, with a paper. King. Ah! me.

sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven!-Proceed, bird-bolt under the left pap:-l'faith secrets.-King. [Reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden


sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have


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:

• In truth.

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Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper. What Longaville! and reading! listen, ear. Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear! [Aside. Long. Ah! me, I am forsworn. Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers. [Aside. King. In love, I hope; Sweet fellowship in shame! [Aside. Biron. One drunkard loves another of the [Aside. perjur'd


Long. Am I the first that have been so?

Biron. [Aside I could put thee in comfort; not by two, that I know:

Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of


The shape of love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.

Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power

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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,
by me broke, to win a paradise?

Biron. [Aside.) This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity;

A green goose, a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend! we are much out

o' the way.

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King. And I mine too, good Lord! [Aside. Biron. Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good word? [Aside. Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd 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 cau
vary wit.

Dura. On a day, (alack the day!)
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom, passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd 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 for sworn for thee:
Thou for whom even 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

That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,
Oh I would the King, Biron, and Longaville,
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note;
For none offend, where all alike do dote,

Long. Dumain, [Advancing.] thy love is far from charity,

That in love's grief desir'st society:
You may look pale, but I should blush I know,
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so.
King. Come, Sir, [Advancing.] you blush;
as his your case is such;
You chide at him, offending twice as much :
You do not love Maria; Longaville
Did never sonnet for her sake compile ;
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.
I have been closely shrouded in this bush,
And mark'd you both, and for you both did

I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion;

Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion:

Ah! me, says one: O Jove! the other cries; One, her hairs were gold, crysta! the other's eyes:

• Outstripped, surpassed.

You would for paradise break faith and troth;

[To LONG. And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. [TO DUMAIN. What will Birón say, when that he shall hear A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear? How will he scorn? how will he spend his wit?

How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did see,

I would not have him know so much by me.
Biron. Now step I forth to whip bypocrisy.—
Ah! good any liege, I pray thee pardon me:
[Descends from the tree.
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to re-

These worms for loving, that art most in love ↑
Your eyes do inake no coaches; in your tears,
There is no certain princess that appears:
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing:
Tush, none but minstrels, like of sonneting.
But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot ?
You found his mote; the king your mote did


But I a beam do find in each of three.
Oh! what a scene of foolery I have seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen! •
O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
To see a king transformed to a gnat!
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon to tune a jigg,
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!

Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain ?
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
And where my liege's? all about the breast :-
A caudle, ho!

King. Too bitter is thy jest.

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you, I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in ; I am betray'd, by keeping company With moon-like inen, of strange inconstancy. When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme ? Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time In pruning me? When shall you hear that I Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, A leg, a limb ?-

King. Soft; Whither away so fast? A trite man, or a thief, that gallops so? Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me


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Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [To COSTARD.] you were born to do me shame.

Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess.
King. What?

Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess:

He, he, and you, my liege, and I,

Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. O dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you


Dum. Now the number is even. Biron. True, true; we are four ;Will these turtles be gone?

King. Hence, Sirs; away.

Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.

[Exeunt COST. and Jaq. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us embrace!

As true we are, as flesh and blood can be: The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face; Young blood will not obey an old decree : We cannot cross the cause why we were born; Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. King. What, did these reut lines show some love of thee?

Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline,

That, like a rude and savage man of Inde,

At the first opening of the gorgeous east, Bows not his vassal head; and, strucken blind, Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
That is not blinded by her majesty?
King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd
thee now?

My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon :
She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.
Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor 1 Biron :
Oh! but for my love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty

Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek;
Where several worthies make one dignity;

Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,

Fie, painted rhetoric! oh! she needs it not: To things of sale a seller's praise belongs;

She passes praise; then praise too short doth

A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn,
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy.
Oh! 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine!
King. By heaven, thy love is black as ehony.
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
A wife of such wood were felicity.
Oh! who can give an oath? where is a book?
That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack,
If that she learn not of her eye to look :

No face is fair, that is not full so black. King. O paradox! Black is the badge of bell, The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of


And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils soouest tempt, resembling spirits of lights.

Oh! if in black my lady's brows be deck'd

It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect;

And therefore is she born to make blac fair

Her favour turns the fasaton of the days;

For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black.

Long. And since her time, are colliers counted bright.

King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion Crack.

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