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Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces :
for her! go to: it is a plague
ACT IV. SCENE I.
A pavilion in the park near the palace.
Attendants, and a Forester.
of the hill ?
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch, ,
For. Hard by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
the faireft shoot.
For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.
Prin. What, what? first praife me, then again fay, 'no?
For. Yes, madam, fair.
For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
Prin. Only for praise ; and praise we may afford
Cof. The 'thickest, and the tallest! it is so, truth is truth..
Prin. What's your will, fir ? what's your will ?
Coff. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline.
Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter : he's a good friend of mine.
Boyet. I am bound to serve.
Prin. We will read it, I swear.
art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely: more fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, havę commiseration on thy heroical vaflal! 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, (o base and obscure vulgar !) videlicet, he came, faw, and overcame: he came, one; faw, 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; whom overcame he? the beggar : the conclusion is victory; on whose fide ? the king's: the captive is enrich’d; on whose fide ? 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. Tbine, 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.
Prin. What plume of feathers is he that endited this letter?
Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the style.
Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in court,
Prin. Thou fellow, a word:
thee this letter?
Coft. From my lord Berown, a good master of mine,
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away. Here, sweet, put up this, įtwill be thine another day.' [Exeunt.
. ---- another day.
Boyet. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?
Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
Rs. Well then, I am the shooter.
Rof. If we choose by horns, yourself; come not near.
Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
Rof. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when king Pippin 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 Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.
Rof. Thou can’st not hit it, hit it, hit it. Thou can'st not hit it, my good man.
[ Shoot within.] Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Nathaniel. Nath. ERY reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony
a good conscience. Hol. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as a pomwater; who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of cælo, the íky, the welkin, the heav'n; 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, fir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.
Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
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, oftentare, to show, as it were, his
Boyet. I cannot, cannot, cannot.
Boyet. A mark! o, mark but that mark! a mark, says my lady.
Mar. Wile o’th' bow hand; i’faith your hand is out.
my troth, most sweet jefts ! most incony vulgar wit!