And therefore is the born to make black fair.
Her Favour turns the Fashion of the Days,
For native Blood is counted Painting now;
And therefore red that would avoid Difpraife,
Paints it felf black, to imitate her Brow.

Dum. To look like her are Chimney-Sweepers black? Long. And fince her time, are Colliers counted bright? King. And Ethiops of their sweet Complexion crack? Dum. Dark needs no Candles now, for Dark is Light. Biron. Your Mistresses dare never come in Rain, For fear their Colours fhould be wafht away.

King. Twere good yours did: for, Sir, to tell you plain, I'll find a fairer Face not washt to Day.

Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk 'till Dooms-day here. King. No Devil will fright thee then fo much as fhe. Dum. I never knew Man hold vile Stuff fo dear. Long. Look, here's thy Love, my Foot and her Face fee. Biron. O if the Streets were paved with thine Eyes, Her Feet were much too dainty for fuch Tread. Dum. O'vile, then as she goes, what upward lyes? The Street should fee as the walk'd over head.

King. But what of this, are we not all in Love?
Biron. Nothing fo fure, and thereby all forfworn.
King. Then leave this Chat, and good Biron now prove
Our loving lawful, and our Faith not torn.

Dum. Ay marry there, fome Flattery for this Evil.
Long. O fome Authority how to proceed,

Some Tricks, fome Quillets, how to cheat the Devil.
Dum. Some Salve for Perjury.

Biron. O'tis more than need.

Have at you then Affections, Men at Arms,
Confider what you firft did fwear unto :
To faft, to study, and to fee no Woman;
Flat Treafon 'gainst the kingly State of Youth.
Say, Can you faft? your Stomachs are too young:
And Abftinence ingenders Maladies.

And where that you have vow'd to study (Lords)
In that each of you have forfworn his Book.
Can you ftill dream and pore, and thereon look?
For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you,
Have found the Ground of Study's Excellence,

Without

Without the Beauty of a Woman's Face;
From Womens Eyes this Doctrine I derive,
They are the Ground, the Books, the Academs,
From whence doth fpring the true Promethean Fire:
Why, univerfal plodding poifons up

The nimble Spirits in the Arteries;
As Motion and long Action tires
The finnewy Vigour of the Traveller.
Now for not looking on a Woman's Face,
You have in that forfworn the use of Eyes:
And Study too, the caufer of your Vow.
For where is any Author in the World,
Teaches fuch Beauty as a Woman's Eye:
Learning is but an Adjun& to our self,
And where we are, our Learning likewife is.
Then when our felves we fee in Lady's Eyes,
Do we not likewife fee our Learning there?
O, we have made a Vow to Study, Lords,
And in that Vow we have forfworn our Books:
For when would you, my Liege, or you, or you,
In Leaden Contemplation have found out
Such Fiery Numbers as the prompting Eyes
Of Beauties Tutors have enrich'd you with?
Other flow Arts entirely keep the Brain;
And therefore finding barren Practifers,
Scarce fhew a Harveft of their heavy Toil
But Love firft learned in a Lady's Eyes,
Lives not alone imured in the Brain:
But with the motion of all Elements,
Courfes as fwift as Thought in every Power,
And gives to every Power a double Power,
Above their Functions and their Offices.
It adds a precious feeing to the Eye:
A Lover's Eyes will gaze an Eagle blind.
A Lover's Ear will hear the lowest Sound,
When the fufpicious Head of Theft is stopt.
Love's feeling is more foft and fenfible,
Than are the tender Horns of cockled Snails.
Love's Tongue proves dainty Bacchus grofs in Tafte;
For Valour, is not Love a Hercules?

Still climing Trees in the Hefperides.

Subtle as a Sphinx, as sweet and mufical
As bright Apollo's Lute, ftrung with his Hair:
And when Love fpeaks, the Voice of all the Gods,
Make Heav'n drowfie with the Harmony.

Never durft Poet touch a Pen to write,
Until his Ink were temper'd with Love's Sighs;
then his Lines would ravish Savage Ears,
And plant in Tyrants mild Humility,
From Womens Eyes this Doctrine I derive :
They sparkle ftill the right Promethean Fire,
They are the Books, the Arts, the Academes,
That fhew, contain, and nourish all the World;
Elfe none at all in ought proves excellent.
Then Fools you were, these Women to forswear:
Or keeping what is fworn, you will prove Fools.
For Wisdom's fake (a Word that all Men love)
Or for Love's fake, a Word that loves all Men:
Or for Mens fake, the Author of thefe Women,
Or Womens fake, by whom we Men are Men;
Let us once lofe our Oaths, to find our felves;
Or else we lose our felves, to keep our Oaths.
It is Religion to be thus forfworn,

For Charity it felf fullfils the Law;

And who can fever Love from Charity?

King, Saint Cupid then, and Soldiers to the Field. Biron. Advance your Standards, and upon them, Lords; Pell, mell, down with them: But be firft advis'd, In Conflict that you get the Sun of them.

Long. Now to Plain-dealing, lay these Gloffes by, Shall we refolve to woo thefe Girls of France.

King. And win them too; therefore let us devife Some Entertainment for them at their Tents.

Biron. First from the Park let us condu&t them thither,
Then homeward every Man attach the Hand
Of his fair Miftrefs; in the Afternoon

We will with some strange Pastime folace them,
Such as the fhortness of the time can shape:
For Revels, Dances, Masks, and merry Hours,
Forerun fair Love, ftrewing her Way with Flowers.
King. Away, away, no time fhall be omitted.
That will betime, and may by us be fitted.
VOL. I.
Ff

Biron

Biron. Alone, alone fowed Cockel, reap'd no Corn,
And Juftice always whirls in equal Measure:

Light Wenches may prove Plagues to Men forfworn,
If fo, our Copper buys no better Treasure.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel and Dull.

Hol. Nath, I praife God for
S
Atis quod fufficit.

you, Sir, your Reasons at Dinner have been sharp and fententious; pleafant without Scurrility, witty without Affectation, audacious without Impudency, learned without Opinion, and strange without Herefie: I did converfe this quondam-Day with a Companion of the King's, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

Hol. Novi hominem tanquem te. His Humour is lofty, his Difcourfe peremptory, his Tongue filed, his Eye ambitious, his Gate majeftical, and his general Behaviour vain, ridiculous,and Thrafonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call

it.

Nath. A moft fingular and choice Epithet.

[Draws out his Table-Book Hol. He draweth out the Thred of his Verbofity finer than the Staple of his Argument. I abhor fuch phanatical Phantafms, fuch infociable and point devife Companions, fuch Rackers of Orthography,as do fpeak dout fine, when he should fay doubt; det, when he fhould pronounce debt; d, e, b, t; not det: He clepe h a Calf, Cauf: half, hauf: Neighbour vocatur nebour; neigh abreviated ne: This is abominable, which we would call abominable: It infinuareth me of Infamy: Ne intelligis Domine, to make Frantick, Lunatick. Nath. Laus deo, bene intelligo.

Hol. Bome boon for boon prefcian; a little fearch, 'twill ferve.

Enter

Enter Armado, Moth and Coftard.

Nath. Vides-ne quis nevit?"

Hol. Video, & gaudeo.

Arm. Chirra.

Hol. Quare Chirra, not Sirra?

Arm. Men of Peace well incountred.

Hol. Moft Military Sir, Salutation.

Moth. They have been at a great Feast of Languages, and ftole the Scraps.

Coft. Othey have liv'd long on the Alms-basket of Words. I marvel thy Mafter hath not eaten thee for a Word, for thou art not fo long by the Head as Honorificabilitudinitatibus: Thou art eafier fwallow'd than a Flap-dragon. Moth. Peace, the Peal begins.

Arm. Monfieur, are you not lettered?

Moth. Yes, yes, he teaches Boys the Horn-book: What is Ab fpelt backward with the Horn on his Head? Hol. Ba, pueritia with a Horn added.

Moth. Ba, moft filly Sheep, with a Horn. You hear his Learning.

Hol. Quis, quis, thou Confonant?

Moth. The laft of the five Vowels, if you repeat them, or the fifth if I.

Hol. I will repeat them, a e I

Moth. The Sheep; the other two concludes it oụ.

Arm. Now by the falt Wave of the Mediteraneum, a sweet Tutch, a quick Venew of Wit; fnip fnap, quick and home; it rejoiceth my Intellect; true Wit.

Moth. Offer'd by a Child to an old Man: which is Witold.

Hol. What is the Figure? What is the Figure?

Moth. Horns.

Hol. Thou difputeft like an Infant; go, whip thy Gigg. Moth. Lend me your Horn to make one, and I will whip about your Infamy unum cita, a Gigg of a Cuckold's Horn.

Coft. And I had but one Penny in the World, thou shouldst have it to buy Ginger-bread; Hold, there is the very Remu neration I had of thy Mafter, thou Half-penny Purfe of Wit, thou Pidgeon-egg of Difcretion. O, and the Heav'ns were fo pleafed, that thou wert but my Baftard! What a joyful Fa

Ff 2

ther