Moth. It was fo, Sir, for the had a green Wit. Arm. My Love is moft imaculate White and Red. → Moth. Moft immaculate Thoughts, Mafter, are mask'd under fuch Colours. me. Arm. Define, define, well educated Infant. Moth. My Father's Wit and my Mother's Tongue affift Arm. Sweet Invocation of a Child, moft pretty and pathetical. Moth. If fhe be made of White and Red, For blushing Cheeks by Faults are bred, For ftill her Cheeks poffefs the fame, A dangerous Rime, Mafter, against the Reafon 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 ferve for the Writing, nor the Tune. Arm. I will have that Subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my Digreffion by fome mighty Prefident. Boy, I do love that Country Girl that I took in the Park with the Rational Hind Coftard; the deferves well. Moth. To be whipp'd, and yet a better Love than my Mafter. Arm. Sing Moth, my Spirit grows heavy in Love. Moth. Forbear 'till this Company be paft. Enter Coftard, Dull, Jaquenetta and Maid. Dull. Sir, the Duke's Pleasure is, that you keep Coftard fafe, and you must let him take no Delight, nor no Penance, but he must faft three Days a Week; for this DamVOL. I. D d fel, Damfel, I must keep her at the Park, fhe is allow'd for the Day-woman. Fare you well. Arm. I do betray my felf with blushing: Maid. Jag. 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. Arm. I love thee. Jag. So I heard you fay. Arm. And fo farewel. [Exit. Maid. Fair Weather after you. Come Jaquenetta, away. [Exeunt. Arm. Villain thou fhalt faft for thy Offences e'er thou be pardoned. Coft. Well, Sir, I hope when I do it, I fhall do it on a full Stomach. Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punish'd. Coft. I am more bound to you than your Fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded. Arm. Take away this Villain, fhut him up. Moth. Come you tranfgreffing Slave, away. Coft. Let me not be pent up, Sir, I will be faft being loofe. Moth. No, Sir, that were faft and loofe; thou shalt to Prifor. Coft. Well, if ever I do fee the merry Days of Defolation that I have feen, fome fhall fee. Moth. What fhall fome fee? upon. Coft. Nay nothing, Mafter Moth, but what they look 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. Arm. I do affect the very Ground (which is base) where her Shoe (which is bafer) guided by her Foot (which is bafeft) 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 Strength; 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 fecond Cause will not ferve my turn; the Paffado he refpects not, the Duello he regards not; his Difgrace is to be call'd Boy; but his Glory is to be fubdue Men. Adieu Valour, rust Rapier, be ftill Drum, for your Manager is in Love; yea, he loveth. Affift me fome extemporal God of Rime, for I am fure I fhall turn Sonnet. Devife Wit, write Pen, for I am for whole Volumes in Folio. ACT II. SCENE I. Enter the Princess of France, Rofaline, Maria, Catherine Boyet, Lords and other Attendants. Boyet. N OW, Madam, fummon up your deareft Spirits, Of all Perfection that a Man may owe, Prin. Good Lord Boyet, my Beauty though but mean, 'Till Till painful Study fhall out-wear three Years, Tell him the Daughter of the King of France, [Exit. Who are the Votaries, my loving Lords, that are Vow-fellows with this virtuous Duke Lor. Longavile is one.. Prin. Know you the Man? Mar. I knew him, Madam, at a Marriage Feaft, Between Lord Perigort, and the beauteous Heir, In Normandy faw I this Longavile, Mar. They fay fo moft, that most his Humours know. Rofa. Rofa. Another of these Students at that time, For every Object that the one doth catch, Prin. God bless my Ladies, are they all in love? With fuch bedecking Ornaments of Praife? Mar. Here comes Boyet. Enter Boyet. Prin. Now, what Admittance, Lord? Boyet. Navarre had Notice of your fair Approach; Enter the King, Longavile, Dumain, Biron, and Attendants. King. Fair Princefs, welcome to the Court of Navarre. Prin. Fair I give you back again, and welcome I have not yet: The Roof of this Court is too high to be yours, and welcome to the wide Fields, too bafe to be mine. King. You fhall be welcome, Madam, to my Court. Dd3 Where |