Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal Epitaph on the Death of the Deer, and to humour the Ignorant, I have call'd the Deer the Princefs kill'd, a Pricket.

Nath. Perge good Mafter Holofernes, Perge, fo it fhall please you to abrogate Scurrility.

Hol. I will fomething affect the Letter, for it argues Facility.

The praifeful Princess pierc'd and prickt.
a pretty pleafing Pricket.

Some fay a Sore, but not a Sore,

'till now made fore with shooting.
The Dogs did yell, put Ell to Sore,
then Sorrel jumps from Thicket;
Or Pricket-fore, or else Sorell,
the People fall a hooting.
If Sore be Sore, then Ell to Sore,
makes fifty Sores, O Sorell l
Of one Sore I an hundred make,
by adding but one more L.

Nath. A rare Talent.

Dull. If a Talent be a Claw, look how he claws him with a Talent.

Nath. This is a Gift that I have, fimple, fimple; a foolish extravagant Spirit, full of Forms, Figures, Shapes, Objects, Ideas, Apprehenfions, Motions, Revolutions. These are begot in the Ventricle of Memory, nourish'd in the Womb of Pia mater, and deliver'd upon the mellowing of Occafion; but the Gift is good in thofe in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.

Hol. Sir,I praife the Lord for you, and fo may our Parishioners, for their Sons are well tutor'd by you, and their Daughters profit very greatly under you; you are a good Member

of the Common-wealth.

Nath. Me hercule, If their Sons be ingenuous, they fhall want no Inftruction: If their Daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But Vir fapit, qui pauca loquitur, a Soul Feminine faluteth us.

Enter Jaquenetta and Coftard.
Faq. God give good Morrow, Mater Parfon.

Hol. Mafter Parfon, quafi Perfon. And if ore fhould be

pierc'd, which is the one?

Ee 3

Cofe.

Coft. Marry Mafter School-mafter, he that is likeft to a Hogshead.

Hol. Of perfing a Hogshead, a good Clufter of Conceit in a Turph of Earth, Fire enough for a Flint, Pearl enough for a Swine: 'Tis pretty, it is well.

Jaq. Good Mafter Parfon be fo good as read me this Letter; it was given me by Coftard, and fent me from Don Armatho. I befeech you read it.

Hol. Faufte precor gelida, quando, pecus omne fub umbrâ, ruminat, and so forth. Ah good old Mantuan, I may speak of thee as the Traveller doth of Venice; Venechi, venache a, qui non te vide, i non te piaech. Old Mantuan, old Mantuan. Who understandeth thee not, ut re fol la mifa. Under pardon Sir, What are the Contents? or rather, as Horace fays in his: What! my Soul Verses.

Nath. Ay Sir, and very learned.

Hol. Let me hear a Staff, a Stanza, a Verfe; Lege Do

mine.

(Love? Nath. If Love make me forfworn, how fhall I fwear to Ah, never, Faith could hold, if not to Beauty vow'd; Though to my felf forfworn, to thee I'll faithful prove, Thofe Thoughts to me were Oaks, to thee like Offers bow'd.

Study his Biafs leaves, and makes his Book thine Eyes;
Where all thofe Pleafures live, that Art would comprehend,
If Knowledge be the Mark, to know thee fhall fuffice,
Well learned is that Tongue, that well can thee commend.
All ignorant that Soul, that fees thee without Wonder:
Which is to me fome Praife, that I thy Parts admire;
Thy Eye Jove's Lightning bears, thy Voice his dreadful
Thunder;

Which not to Anger bent, is Mufick, and sweet Fire.
Celestial as thou art, O pardon, Love, this Wrong,
That fings Heav'ns Praife with fuch an Earthly Tongue,
Hol. You find not the Apostrophes, and fo mifs the Ac-
cenr. Let me fupervise the Cangenet.

Nath. Here are only Numbers ratify'd, but for the Ele gancy, Facility, and golden Cadence of Poefie caret: Ovidius Nafe was the Man. And why indeed Nafo; but for fmelling out the odoriferous Flowers of Fancy? The Jerks of In

vention

1

1

vention imitary is nothing: So doth the Hound his Mafter, the Ape his Keeper, the tir'd Horfe his Rider: But Damofella Virgin, was this directed to you?

Jaq. Ay Sir, from one Monfieur Biron, one of the ftrange Queen's Lords.

Nath. I will overglance the Superfcri pt.

To the fnow-white Hand of the most beauteous Lady, Rofaline. I will look again on the Intellect of the Letter, for the Nomination of the Party writing, to the Person writ

Tour Lady fhip's in all defir'd Employment, Biron.

Dull. Sir Holofernes, this Biron is one of the Votaries with the King, and here he hath fram'd a Letter to a Sequent of the ftranger Queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of Progreffion, hath mifcarry'd. Trip and go my fweet; deliver this Paper into the Hand of the King; it may concern much; ftay not thy Complement; I forgive thy Duty: Adieu.

Faq. Good Coftard go with me.

Sir, God fave your Life.

Coft. Have with thee, my Girl. [Exit. Coft. and Jaq. Hol. Sir, you have done this in the Fear of God, very Religioufly: and as a certain Father faith

Dull. Sir, tell not me of the Father, I do fear colourable Colours. But to return to the Verfes: Did they please you, Sir Nathaniel?

Nath. Marvellous well for the Pen.

Hol. I do dine to Day at the Father's of a certain Pupil of mine; where if (being repast) it fhall please you to gratifie the Table with a Grace: I will on my Priviledge I have with the Parents of the forefaid Child and Pupil, undertake your bien venuto, where will I prove thofe Verfes to be very unlearn'd, neither favouring of Poetry, Wit or Invention. I beseech your Society.

Nath. And thank you too: for Society (faith the Text) is the Happiness of Life.

Hol. And certes the Text moft infallibly concludes it. Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not fay me nay: Pauca verba.

Away, the Gentles are at their Game, and we will to our Recreation.

Enter Biron with a Paper in his Hand, alone.

Bion. The King is hunting the Deer.

I am courfing my felf.

[Exeunt.

They have pitcht a Toyl, I am toyling in a Pitch, Pitch that defiles; defile, a foul Word: Well, fet thee down Sorrow; for fo they fay the Fool faid, and fo fay I, and I the Fool. Well prov'd Wit. By the Lord this Love is as mad as Ajax, it kills Sheep, it kills me, I a Sheep. Well prov'd again on my Side. I will not love; if I do, hang me: I'faith I will not. O but her Eye: By this Light, but for her Eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two Eyes. Well, I do nothing in the World but lie, and lie in my Throat. By Heaven I do love, and it hath taught me to Rhime, and to be Melancholly; and here is part of my Rhime, and here my Melancholly. Well the hath one a' my Sonnets already; the Clown bore it, the Fool fent it, and the Lady hath it: Sweet Clown, fweeter Fool, fweetest Lady. By the World, I would not care a Pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a Paper, God give him Grace to groan. [He stands afide.

King. Ay me.

Enter the King.

Biron. Shot, by Heav'n! Proceed, fweet Cupid; thou haft thumpt him with thy Birdbolt under the left Pap: In faith

Secrets.

King. So fweet a Kifs the golden Sun gives not,
To thofe fresh Morning Drops upon the Rofe,
As thy Eye-beams when their freth Rays have fmote
The Night of Dew that on my Cheeks down flows;
Nor fhines the filver Moon one half fo bright,
Through the Tranfparent Bofom of the Deep,
As doth thy Face through Tears of mine give Light;
Thou fhin'ft in every Tear that I do weep;
No Drop, but as a Coach doth carry thee,
So rideft thou triumphing in my Woe.
Do but behold the Tears that fwell in me,
And they thy Glory through my Grief will fhew;
But do rtlove thy felf, then thou wil keep
My Tears for Glafles, and ftill make me weep.

O Queen of Queens, how far do'st thou excel !
No Thought can think, nor Tongue of Mortal tell.
How fhe fhall know my Griefs? I'll drop the Paper;
Sweet Leaves fhade Folly. Who is he comes here?
Enter Longavile. [The King steps afide.
What! Longavile! and reading: Liften Ear.
Biron. Now in thy Likeness one more Fool appears.
King. Ay me, I am forfworn.

Biron. Why he comes in like a Perjur'd, wearing Papers.
Long. In Love I hope, fweet Fellowship in Shame.
Biron. One Drunkard loves another of the Name.
Long. Am I the firft that have been perjur'd fo? (know,
Biron. I could put thee in Comfort: Not by two that I
Thou mak'ft the Triumvirat the three Corner-Cap of Society,
The Shape of Loves Tiburn, that hangs up Simplicity.

Long. I fear thefe stubborn Lines lack Power to move: Ofweet Maria, Emprefs of my Love,

Thefe Numbers will I tear, and write in Profe.

Biron. O Rhimes are Guards on wanton Cupid's Hofe : Disfigure not his Shop.

Long. This fame fhall go.

[He reads the Sonnet.

Did not the heavenly Rhetorick of thine Eye
'Gainst whom the World cannot hold Argument;
Perfuade my Heart to this falfe Perjury?
Vows for thee broke deserve not Punishment :
A Woman I forfwore, but I will prove,
Thou being a Goddess, I forfwore not thee.
My Vow was earthy, thou a heav'nly Love:
Thy Grace being gain'd, cures all Difgrace in me.
Vows are but Breath, and Breath a Vapour is,
Then thou fair Sun, which on my Earth doft fine,
Exhalft this Vapour-Vow; in thee it is;

If broken then, it is no Fault of mine;
If by me broke, what Fool is not so wife,
To lose an Oath to win a Paradife?

Biron. This is the Liver-vein, which makes Flesh a Deity; A green Goose a Goddefs, pure, pure Idolatry. God amend us, God amend, we are much out o'th' way.

Enter