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 seawater 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, surely, affected her for her wit.

Moth. It was so, fir; for she had a green wit.
Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red.

Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask'd under such colours.

Arm. Define, define, welleducated infant.
Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue assist me!
Arm. Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty and pathetical !
Motb. If she 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,

you

shall not know; For still her cheeks possess the same,

Which native she 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 such a ballad some three ages since; 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 subject newly writ o’er, that I may example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love

By this

a

that country girl that I took in the park with the irrational hind, Costard; she deserves well —

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

[afide.
Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.
Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.
Arm. I say, sing.
Moth. Forbear, till this company be past.

Enter Costard, Dull, and Jaquenetta.
Dull

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

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing: maid.
Jaq. Man.
Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge.
Jaq. That's here by.
Arm. I know where it is situate.
Jaq. Lord, how wise you are !
Arm. I will tell thee wonders.
Jaq. With that face?
Arm. I love thee.
Jaq. So I heard you say.
Arm. And so farewel.
Jaq. Fair weather after you !
Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.

[Exeunt. Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offence ere thou be pardoned.

Coft. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach. Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punish’d.

Coft.

N2

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 transgressing slave, away.
Coft. Let me not be pent up, fir; I will be fast, being loose.
Moth. No, sir, that were fast and loose; thou shalt to prison.

Coft. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall see

Moth. What shall fome see?

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

[Exit Moth, with Costard. Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, which is a great argument of falfhood, if I love. And how can that be true love, which is fallly attempted ? love is a familiar; love is a devil: there is no evil angel but love: yet Sampson was so tempted; and he had an excellent strength: yet was Solomon so seduced; and he had a very good wit. Cupid's but-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier : the first and second cause will not serve my turn; the pasado he respects not, the duello he regards not; his disgrace is to be call’d boy; but his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour! rust, rapier! be still, drum! for your manager is in love ; yea, he loveth. Aslift me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for, I am fure, I shall turn sonneteer. Devise, wit! write, pen! for I am for whole volumes in folio.

[Exit.

ACT

N°

Before the king of Navarre's palace.
Enter the princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, Catharine,
Boyet, lords, and other attendants.

BoүЕ т.
Ow, madam, summon up your dearest spirits :

Consider whom the king your father sends;
To whom he sends; and what's his embassy :
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the sole inheritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchless 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 starve the general world beside,
And prodigally gave them all to you.

Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the painted Aourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter’d by base fale of chapmen's tongues.
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than

you are willing to be counted wise,
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 noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
Till painful study shall outwear three years,
No woman may approach his silent court :

calla

he

I am

ст

Therefore

a

m

Therefore to us seems it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure; and, in that behalf,
Bold of your worthiness, we single you
As our best moving fair solicitor.
Tell him, the daughter of the king of France,
On serious business, craving quick despatch,
Importunes personal conference with his grace.
Haste, signify so mạch; while we attend,
Like humblevisag'd suitors, his high will.

Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. [Exit.

Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so:
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-feaft,
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Faulconbridge solemnized.

Mar. In Normandy law I this Longaville ;
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd;
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms;
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue’s glofs,
(If virtue's glofs will stain with any foil)
Is a sharp 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 so ?
Mar. They say so most, that most his humours know.

Prin. Such shortliv'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,

And