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excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Sampson's love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, master.

Arm. Of what complexion?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precisely, of what complexion?

Moth. Of the feawater green, fir.

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions?

Moth. As I have read, fir; and the best of them too.

Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampson had small reason for it. He, furely, affected her for her wit.

Moth. It was fo, fir; for fhe had a green wit.

Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red.

Moth. Moft maculate thoughts, master, are mask'd under fuch colours.

Arm. Define, define, welleducated infant.

Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue affift me! Arm. Sweet invocation of a child, moft pretty and pathetical! Moth. If fhe be made of white and red,

Her faults will ne'er be known;
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale-white shown:

Then, if she fear, or be to blame,
By this you shall not know;
For ftill her cheeks poffefs the fame,
Which native fhe doth owe.

A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red. Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the king and the beggar? Moth. The world was guilty of fuch a ballad fome three ages fince; but, I think, now 'tis not to be found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have that fubject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digreffion by fome mighty precedent. Boy, I do love


that country girl that I took in the park with the irrational hind, Coftard; the deferves well

Moth. To be whipp'd; and yet a better love than my master


Arm. Sing, boy; my fpirit grows heavy in love.

Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.

Arm. I fay, fing.

Moth. Forbear, till this company be past.

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Dull. Sir, the king's pleasure is, that you keep Coftard safe ; and you must let him take no delight, nor no penance; but he muft faft three days a week. For this damfel, I must keep her at the park; fhe is allow'd for the daywoman. Fare you well.

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing: maid.

Jaq. Man.

Arm. I will vifit thee at the lodge.

Jaq. That's here by.

Arm. I know where it is fituate.

Jaq. Lord, how wife you are!

Arm. I will tell thee wonders.

Jaq. With that face?

Arm. I love thee.

Jaq. So I heard you fay.

Arm. And fo farewel.

Jaq. Fair weather after you!

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.


Arm. Villain, thou fhalt faft for thy offence ere thou be


Coft. Well, fir, I hope, when I do it, I fhall do it on a full


Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punish'd.

N 2


Coft. I am more bound to you

than your

followers, for they

are but lightly rewarded.

Arm. Take away this villain; shut him up.
Moth. Come, you tranfgreffing flave, away.

Coft. Let me not be pent up, fir; I will be faft, being loose. Moth. No, fir, that were fast and loofe; thou fhalt to prison. Coft. Well, if ever I do fee the merry days of defolation that I have seen, fome fhall fee

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Moth. What shall fome fee?

Coft. Nay, nothing, mafter Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prifoners to be filent in their words; and, therefore, I will fay nothing: I thank god, I have as little patience as another man; and, therefore, I can be quiet.

[Exit Moth, with Coftard. Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her fhoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I fhall be forfworn, which is a great argument of falfhood, if I love. And how can that be true love, which is falfly attempted? love is a familiar; love is a devil: there is no evil angel but love: yet Sampson was fo tempted; and he had an excellent ftrength: yet was Solomon fo feduced; and he had a very good wit. Cupid's but-fhaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier: the first and second caufe will not ferve my turn; the passado he refpects not, the duello he regards not; his disgrace is to be call'd boy; but his glory is to fubdue men. Adieu, valour! rust, rapier! be ftill, drum! for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Affift me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for, I am fure, I shall turn fonneteer. Devife, wit! write, pen! for I am for whole volumes in folio.





Before the king of Navarre's palace.

Enter the princess of France, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine,
Boyet, lords, and other attendants.


TOW, madam, fummon up your deareft fpirits:
Confider whom the king your father fends;
To whom he fends; and what's his embaffy:
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the fole inheritor

Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchlefs Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitain, a dowry for a queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,

When she did ftarve the general world befide,
And prodigally gave them all to you.

Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of
your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by bafe fale of chapmen's tongues.
I am lefs proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than you are willing to be counted wife,
In spending thus your wit in praise of mine.
But now to task the tasker :- - good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noife abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
Till painful study fhall outwear three years,
No woman may approach his filent court:


Therefore to us feems it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure; and, in that behalf,
Bold of your worthiness, we fingle you
As our best moving fair folicitor.

Tell him, the daughter of the king of France,
On serious bufinefs, craving quick despatch,
Importunes personal conference with his grace.
Hafte, fignify fo much; while we attend,
Like humblevifag'd fuitors, his high will.
Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go.
Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is fo:
Who are the votaries, my loving lords,

That are vowfellows with this virtuous king?
Lord. Longaville is one.

Prin. Know you the man?

Lord. I knew him, madam, at a marriage-feast,
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Faulconbridge folemnized.

Mar. In Normandy faw I this Longaville;
A man of fovereign parts he is esteem'd;
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms;
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
The only foil of his fair virtue's glofs,
(If virtue's glofs will ftain with any foil)
Is a fharp wit match'd with too blunt a will;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
It should spare none that come within his power.

Prin. Some merry-mocking lord, belike; is't fo?
Mar. They fay fo moft, that moft his humours know.
Prin. Such fhortliv'd wits do wither as they grow.
Who are the rest?

Cath. The young Dumain, a wellaccomplish'd youth, Of all, that virtue love, for virtue lov'd.

Most powerful to do harm, leaft knowing ill;

For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,



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