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Where now his Knowledge muft prove Ignorance,
But pardon me, I am too fudden bold,
King. Madam, I will, if fuddenly I may.
Rofa. How needlefs was it then to ask the Question?
Rofa. 'Tis long of you that fpur me with fuch Questions.
Biron. What Time a Day?
Rofa. The Hour that Fools fhould ask.
An hundred thoufand Crowns, and not remembers
Prin. You do the King my Father too much Wrong,
Prin. We arreft your
King. Satisfie me fo.
Boyet. So pleafe your Grace, the Packet is not come,
King. It fhall fuffice me; at which Interview,
Prin. Sweet Health and fair Defires comfort your Grace.
Biron. I would you heard it groan.
Dum. Sir, I pray you a Word; What Lady is that fame?
Long. I befeech you a word: What is the in white? Boyet. A Woman fometimes, if you faw her in the Light, Long. Perchance Light in the Light: I defire her Name. Boyet. She hath but one for her felf; To defire that were a Shame.
Long. Pray you Sir, whofe Daughter?
Long. Nay, my Choller is ended:
Boyet. Not unlike Sir, that may be.
Biron. What's her Name in the Cap?
Biron. You are welcome Sir: Adieu,
Boyet. Farewel to me Sir, and welcome to you. [Ex. Biron, Mar. That laft is Biron, the merry Mad-cap Lord;
Not a Word with him but a Jeft.
Boyet. And every Jeft but a Word.
Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.
Mar. Two hot Sheeps, marry;
And wherefore not Ships?
Boyet. No Sheep (fweet Lamb) unlefs we feed on your
Mar. Not fo, gentle Beaft;
My Lips are no Common, though feveral they be.
Mar. To my Fortunes and me.
Prin, Good Wits will be jangling; but Gentles agree.
Boyet. If my Obfervation (which very feldome lyes, By the Heart's ftill Rhetorick, difclofed with Eyes) Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.
Prin. With what?
Boyet. With that which we Lovers intitle affected.
Boyet. Why all his Behaviours do make their Retire To the Court of his Eye, peeping thorough Defire: His Heart like an Agot with your Print impreffed; Proud with his Form, in his Eye-Pride expreffed: His Tongue all impatient to speak and not fee, Did ftumble with hafte in his Eye-fight to be: All Senfes to that Senfe did make their Repair, To feel only looking on Faireft of fair: Methought all his Senfes were lock'd in his Eye, As Jewels in Chryftal for fome Prince to buy: Who tendring their own Worth from whence they were Did point out to buy them along as you paft. His Faces own Margent did coat fuch Amazes, That all Eyes faw his Eyes inchanted with Gazes: I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his, And you give him for my fake but one loving Kiss.
Prin. Come to our Pavillion, Boyet is difpos'd.
Boyet. But to fpeak that in Words which his Eye hath I only have made a Mouth of his Eye, By adding a Tongue which I know will rot lie. Rofa. Thou art an old Love-monger, and fpeake ft skilfully.
Mar. He is Cupid's Grandfather, and learns News of
Rofa. Then was Venus like her Mother, for her Father is
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad Wenches?
Boyet. What then, do you fee?
A C T III. SCENE I.
Enter Armado and Moth.
Arm. W Arble Child, make paffionate my Sense of hear
Arm. Sweet Air; go Tenderness of Years; take this Key, give Inlargement to the Swain; bring him feftinately hither: I muft imploy him in a Letter to my Love.
Moth. Will you win your Love with a French Braul?
Moth. No my compleat Mafter, but to Jig off a Tune at the Tongue's End, canary to it with the Feet, humour it with turning up your Eye; figh a Note and fing a Note, fomething through the Throat If you fwallow'd Love with Singing, love fometime through the Nofe, as if you fouft up Love by fmelling Love, with your Hat Penthouse-like o'er the Shop of your Eyes, with your Arms croft on your thinbelly Doublet, (like a Rabbet on a Spit) or your Hands in your Pocket, like a Man after the old Painting, and keep not too long in one Tune, but a Snip and away: These are Complements, thefe are Humours, thefe betray nice Wenches that would be betray'd without thefe, and make them Men of Note: Do you note Men that most are affected to thefe ?
Arm. How haft thou purchas'd this Experience?
Arm. But O, but O.
Moth. The Hobby-horfe is forgot.