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Long. Coftard the Swain, and he fhall be our Sport, And fo to ftudy, three Years is but short.

Enter Dull and Coftard with a Letter:

Dull. Which is the Duke's own Perfon?
Biron. This, Fellow, what would'st?

Dull. I my felf reprehend his own Perfon, for I am his Grace's Tharborough: But I would fee his own Perfon in Flesh and Blood.

Biron. This is he.

Dull. Signior Arme, Arme commends you.

1

There's Villany abroad; this Letter will tell you more.
Coft. Sir, the Contemps thereof are as touching me.
King. A Letter from the magnificent Armado.

Biron. How low foever the Matter, I hope in God for high Words.

Long. A high Hope for a low Heav'n; God grant us Pa

tience.

Biron. To hear, or forbear hearing.

Long. To hear meekly, Sir, and to laugh moderately, or to forbear both.

Biron. Well Sir, be it as the Stile fhall give us cause to climb in the Merrinefs.

Coft. The matter is to me Sir, as concerning Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.

Biron. In what manner?

Coft. In manner and form, following, Sir, all those three. I was feen with her in the Manor-houfe, fitting with her upon the Form, and taken following her into the Park; which put together, is in manner and form following. Now Sir, for the manner : Is the manner of a Man to speak to a Woman; for the form in fome form.

Biron. For the following, Sir.

Coft. As it fhall follow in my Correction, and God defend the right.

King. Will you hear this Letter with Attention?

Biron. As we would hear an Oracle.

Coft. Such is the Simplicity of Man to hearken after the Flesh.

King Great Deputy, the Welkin's Vicegerent, and fole Dominator of Navarre, my Soul's Earth's God, and Bo

dy's foftring Patron

Coft. Not a word of Coftard yet.

King. So it is

Coft. It may be fo; but if he fay it is fo, he is in telling

true: but fo.

King. Peace,

Coft. Be to me, and every Man that dares not fight.
King. No Words,

Coft. Of other Mens Secrets I beseech you.

King. So it is, besieged with fable-coloured Melancholly, I did commend the black oppreffing Humour to the most wholeSome Phyfick of thy health-giving Air; and as I am a Gentleman, betook my felf to walk: The Time when? about the fixth Hour, when Beasts most graze, Birds beft peck, and Men fit down to that Nourishment which is call'd Supper: So much for the Time when. Now for the Ground which: which I mean I walkt upon, it is ycleped, thy Park. Then for the Place where, where I mean I did incounter that obscene and most prepofterous Event that draweth from my fnow-white Pen the Eboncolour'd Ink, which here thou vieweft, beholdeft, furveyeft, or feeft. But to the Place where: It standeth North North Eaft and by Eaft from the Weft-corner of thy curious knotted Garden. There did I fee that low-fpirited Swain, that base Minow of thy Mirth. (Coft. Me?) that unlettered fmall-knowing Soul, (Coft. Me?) that shallow Vaffsal, (Coft. Still me?) which as I remember, hight Coftard, (Coft. O me.) forted and conforted contrary to thy eftablished proclaimed Edict and continent Cannon: Which with, O with, but with this I passion to Say wherewith:

Coft. With a Wench.

King. With a Child of our Grandmother Eve, a Female; or, for thy more underftading, a Woman; him, I (as my ever efteem'd Duty pricks me on) have sent to thee, to receive the meed of Punishment by thy sweet Grace's Officer, Anthony Dull, a Man of good repute, carriage, bearing and estimation Dul. Me, an't fhall please you? I am Anthony Dull. King. For Jaquenetta (o is the weaker Vessel called) which I apprehended with the aforesaid Swain, I keep her as a veffel of thy Laws fury, and shall at the leaft of thy fweet

notice,

notice, bring her to a Trial. Thine in all complements of de voted and heart-burning heat of Duty,

Don Adriana de Armado

Biron. This is not fo well as I look'd for, but the best that ever I heard.

King. Ay the best for the worst. But Sirrah, What say you to this?

Coft, Sir, I confefs the Wench,

King. Did you hear the Proclamation?

Coft. I do confefs much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it.

King. It was proclaim'd a Year's Imprisonment to be taken with a Wench.

Coft. I was taken with none, Sir, I was taken with a Damofel.

King. Well, it was proclaimed Damofel.

Coft. This was no Damofel neither, Sir, fhe was a Virgin. King. It is fo varied too, for it was proclaim'd Virgin. Coff. If it were, I deny her Virginity: I was taken with a Maid.

King. This Maid will not ferve your turn, Sir,
Caft. This Maid will ferve my turn, Sir.

King. Sir, I will pronounce Sentence; you fhall faft a Week with Bran and Water.

Coft. I had rather pray a Month with Mutton and Por ridge.

King. And Don Armado fhall be your Keeper.
My Lord Biron, fee him deliver'd o'er,

And go we Lords to put in practice that
Which each to other hath fo ftrongly fworn.

[Exeunt.

Biron. I'll lay my Head to any good Man's Hat; Thefe Oaths and Laws will prove an idle Scorn. Sirrab, come on.

Coft. I fuffer for the Truth Sir For true it is, I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true Girl, and therefore welcome the four Cup of Profperity: Af fiction may one Day fmile again, and until then fit down

Sorrow.

[Exeunt.

Enter

Enter Armado and Moth.

Arm. Boy, what Sign is it when a Man of great Spirit grows Melancholy?

Moth. A great Sign, Sir, that he will look fad.

Arm. Why? Sadness is one and the felf-fame thing, dear Imp.

Moth. No, no, O Lord Sir, no.

Arm. How canft thou part Sadness and Melancholy, my tender Juvenal?

Moth. By a familiar Demonstration of the working, my tough Signior.

Arm. Why tough Signior? Why tough Signior?

Moth. Why tender Juvenal? Why tender Juvenal?

Arm. Ifpoke it tender Juvenal, as a congruent Epitheton, appertaining to thy young Days, which we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I tough Signior, as an appertinent Title to your old time, which we may name tough.

Arm. Pretty and apt.

Moth. How mean you, Sir, I pretty, and my Saying apt? or I apt, and my Saying pretty?

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Arm. Thou pretty, because little.

Moth Little pretty, because little; wherefore apt?

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick.

Moth. Speak you this in my Praise, Mafter?

Arm. In thy condign Praife.

Moth. I will praife an Eel with the fame Praife.

Arm. What? that an Eel is ingenious.

Moth. That an Eel is quick.

Arm. I do fay thou art quick in Anfwers. Thou hea t'ft

my Blood.

Moth. I am anfwer'd, Sir.

Arm. I love not to be croft.

Moth. He speaks the clean contrary, croffes Love not him. Arm. I have promis'd to ftudy three Years with the Duke. Moth. You may do it in an hour, Sir.

Arm. Impoffible.

Moth. How many is one thrice told?

Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fits the spirit of a Tapster. Moth. You are a Gentleman and a Gamefter. Arm. I confefs both, they are both the varnish of a compleat Man.

Moth.

Moth. Then I am fure you know how much the grofs Sum of deuf-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.

Moth. Which the base vulgar call three.

Arm. True.

Moth. Why, Sir, is this fuch a piece of Study? Now here's three ftudied e'er you'll thrice wink; and how eafie it is to put Years to the Word three, and ftudy three Years in two Words, the Dancing-horfe will tell you.

Arm. A moft fine Figure.

Moth. To prove you a Cypher.

Arm. I will hereupon confefs I am in love; and as it is bafe for a Soldier to love, fo am I in love with a base Wench. If drawing my Sword against the Humour of Affection, would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I take Defire Prisoner, and ransom him to any French Courtier for a new devis'd Courtefy. I think fcorn to figh, methinks I fhould out-fwear Cupid. Comfort me, Boy: What great Men have been in Love? Moth. Hercules, Mafter.

Arm. Moft fweet Hercules! More Authority, dear Moth. name more; and sweet my Child, let them be Men of good Repute and Carriage.

Moth. Samplon, Mafter, he was a Man of good Carriage, great Carriage; for he carried the Town Gates on his Back like a Porter, and he was in Love.

Arm. O well-knit Sampfon, strong-jointed Sampson; I do excel thee in my Rapier, as much as thou didft 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 precifely of what Complexion?

Moth. Of the Sea-water Green, Sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four Complexions?

Moth. As I have read, Sir, and the best of them too. Arm. Green, indeed, is the Colour of Lovers; but to have a Love of that Colour, methinks Sampfon had small Reafon for it. He furely affected her for her Wit.

Moth

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