Puslapio vaizdai

Moth. No Mafter, the Hobby-horfe is but a Colt, and your Love perhaps a Hackney :

But have you forgot your Love?

Arm. Almoft I had.

Moth. Negligent Student, learn her by heart.

Arm. By heart, and in heart, Boy.

Moth. And out of Heart, Mafter: All thofe three I will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A Man, if I live (and this) by, in, and without, upon the Inftant: In Heart you love her, becaufe your Heart is in love with her; and out of Heart you love her, being out of Heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three Times as much more; and yet nothing

at all.


Arm. Fetch hither the Swain, he muft carry me a Let

Moth. A Meffage well fimpathiz'd; a Horfe to be Embaffador for an Afs.

Arm. Ha, ha; what fay'ft thou?

Moth. Marry Sir, you muft fend the Afs upon the Horse, for he is very flow gated: But I go.

Arm. The way is but fhort; away.

Moth. As fwife as Lead, Sir.

Arm. Thy Meaning, pretty Ingenious? is not Lead a Metal heavy, dull and flow?

Moth. Minime honeft Mafter, or rather Mafter no.
Arm. I fay Lead is flow.

Moth. You are too swift Sir, to say so.

Is that Lead flow, Sir, which is fir'd from a Gun?
Arm. Sweet Smoak of Rhetorick;

He reputes me a Cannon, and the Bullet that's he:
I fhoot thee at the Swain.

Moth. Thump then, and I fly.


Arm. A moft accute Juvenal, voluble and free of Grace; By thy Favour, fweet Welkin, I must figh in thy Face. Moft rude Melancholly, Valour gives the Place.

My Herald is return'd.


Enter Moth and Coftard.

Moth. A Wonder, Mafter, here's a Coftard broken in a Shin.

Arm. Some Enigma, fome Riddle, no Lenvoy, begin.

Coft. No Egma, no Riddle, no Lenvoy, no Salve, in the Male, Sir. O Sir, Plantan, a plain Plantan; no Lenvoy, no Lenvoy, or Salve, Sir, but Plantan.

Arm. By Vertue thou inforceft Laughter, thy filly Thought, my Spleen, the heaving of my Lungs provokes me to ridiculous Smiling: O pardon me my Stars, doth the inconfiderate take Salve for Lenvoy, and the word Lenvoy for a Salve?

Moth. Do the Wife think them other, is not Lenvoy a
Arm. No Moth, it is an Epilogue or Difcourfe to make
Some obfcure Precedence that hath tofore been fain.

Now will I begin your Moral, and do you follow with my

The Fox, the Ape, and the Humble-bee,

Were ftill at odds, being but three.

Moth. Until the Goose came out of Door,
Staying the odds by adding four.

A good Lenvoy, ending in the Goofe; would you defire


Coft. The Boy hath fold him a Bargain, a Goose that's flat,
Sir your penny-worth is good, and your Goose be fat.
To fell a Bargain well is as cunning as faft and loofe.
Let me fee a fat Lenvoy, I that's a fat Goose.

Arm. Come hither, come hither;

How did this Argument begin?

Moth. By faying that a Coftard was broken in a Shin. Then call'd you for a Lenvoy.

Coft. True, and I for a Plantan ;

Thus came your Argument in ;

Then the Boys fat Lenvoy, the Goofe that you bought.
And he ended the Market.

Arm. But tell me; how was there a Coftard broken in a
Shin ?

Moth. I will tell you fenfibly.

Coft. Thou haft no feeling of it, Moth,

I will fpeak that Lenvoy.




I Coftard running out, that was fafely within,
Fell over the Threshold, and broke my Shin.

Arm. We will talk no more of this Matter.
Ceft. 'Till there be more Matter in the Shin.
Arm. Sirrah, Coftard, I will infranchise thee.

Coft. O, Marry me to one Francis, I smell fome Lenvoj, fome Goose in this.

Arm. By my fweet Soul, I mean fetting thee at Liberty. Enfreedoming thy Perfon; thou wert immur'd, reftrained, captivated, bound.

Coft. True, true, and now you will be my Purgation, and let me loofe.

Arm. I give thee thy Liberty, fet thee from durance, and in lieu thereof, impofe on thee nothing but this; bear this fignificant to the Country-Maid Jaquenetta; there is Remuneration, for the beft ward of mine Honours is rewarding my Dependants. Moth, follow.

Moth. Like the Sequel I. Signior Coftard adieu.


Coft. My fweet Ounce of Man's Flesh, my in-cony Jew: Now will I look to his Remuneration.

Remuneration, O, that's the Latin Word for three Farthings: Three Farthings Remuneration, What's the Price of this Incle? five Farthings. No, I'll give you a Remuneration: Why? It carries its Remuneration: Why? It is a fairer Name than a French-Crown. I will never buy and fell out of this


Enter Biron.

Biron. O my good Knave Coftard, exceedingly well met. Coft. Pray you Sir, how much Carnation Ribbon may a Man buy for a Remuneration ?

Biron. What is a Remuneration?

Coft. Marry Sir, half-penny Farthing.

Biron. O, why then three Farthings worth of Silk.
Coft. I thank your Worfhip, God be with you.
Biron. O ftay Slave, I muft employ thee:
As thou wilt win my Favour, my good Knave,
Do one thing for me that I fhall intreat.

Coft. When would you have it done, Sir?
Biron. O this Afternoon.

Coft. Well, I will do it Sir: Fare you well.

Biron. O thou knoweft not what it is.

Coft. I thall know, Sir, when I have done it.
Biron. Why Villain, thou must know it first.
Coft. I will come to your Worship to Morrow Morning.
Biron. It must be done this Afternoon.

Hark Slave, it is but this:

The Princefs comes to hunt here in the Park:
And in her Train there is a gentle Lady;

When Tongues fpeak fweetly, then they name her Name,
And Rofaline they call her; ask for her,

And to her white Hand fee thou do commend

This feal'd up Counsel. There's thy Guerdon; go.

Coft. Guerdon, O fweet Guerdon, better than Remuneration, eleven Pence Farthing better: Moft fweet Guerdon. I will do it, Sir, in Print: Guerdon, Remuneration.

Biron. O! and I forfooth in Love,

I that have been Love's Whip;

A very Beadle to a humorous Sigh: A Critick;
Nay, a Night-watch Conftable.

A domineering Pedant o'er the Boy,

Than whom no Mortal more magnificent.

This whimpled, whining, purblind wayward Boy,
This Signior Junio's Giant Dwarf, Don Cupid,
Regent of Love-rimes, Lord of folded Arms,
Th' anointed Sovereign of Sighs and Groans:
Liege of all Loyteiers, and Malecontents:
Dread Prince of Plackets, King of Codpieces.
Sole Emperator, and Great General
Of trotting Parators (O my little Heart!)
And I to be a Corporal of his Field,

And wear his Colours like a Tumbler's Hoop:
What? I love! I fue! I feek a Wife,
A Woman, that is like a German Clock,
Still a repairing; ever out of Frame,
And never going aright, being but a Watch,
But being watch'd, that it may ftill go right.
Nay to be perjur'd, which is worst of all:
And among three, to love the worft of all,
A whitely Wanton with a Velvet Brow,
With two Pitch Balls ftuck in her Face for Eyes,




Ay, and by Heav'n, one that will do the Deed,
Tho' Argus were her Eunuch and her Guard;
And I to figh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! go too: It is a Plague
That Cupid will impofe for my neglect
Of his almighty, dreadful, little Might.

Well, I will love, write, figh, pray, fue and groan,
Some Men muft love my Lady, and fome Joan.

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Enter the Princess, Rofaline, Maria, Catherine, Lords,
Attendants, and a Forefter.


A S that the King that fpur'd his Horfe fo hard
Against the steep unrifing of the Hill?

Boyet. I know not, but I think it was not he.

Prin. Who e'er he was, he fhew'd a mounting Mind.
Well Lords, to Day we shall have our dispatch,
On Saturday we will return to France.
Then Forefter, my Friend, where is the Bush
That we must stand and play the Murtherer in ?
For. Hereby upon the edge of yonder Coppice,
A ftand where you may make the fairest shoot.
Prin. I thank my Beauty, I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou fpeak'ft the fairest shoot.
For. Pardon me, for I meant not fo.

Prin. What, what? First praife me, then again fay no.
O fhort-liv'd Pride. Not Fair? alack for wo.
For. Yes Madam, Fair.

Prin. Nay, never paint me now,

Where Fair is not, Praise cannot mend the Brow.
Here (good my Glafs) take this for telling true;
Fair Payment for foul Words is more than due.
For. Nothing but Fair is that which you inherit.
Prin. See, fee, my Beauty will be fav'd by Merit.
O Herefie in fair, fit for thefe Days,

A giving Hand, though foul, fhall have the Praife.


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