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But come, the Bow; now Mercy goes to kill,
The poor Dear's Blood, that my Heart means no ill.
Prin. Only for Praise, and Praise we may afford
Boyet. Here comes a Member of the Common-wealth. Coft. God dig-you-den all, pray you which is the head Lady?
Prin. Thou shalt know her, Fellow, by the reft that have no Heads.
Coft. Which is the greatest Lady, the highest?
Coft. The thickeft and the talleft; it is fo, truth is truth. And your Wafte, Miftrefs, were as flender as my Wit, One a thefe Maids Girdles for your Waste should be fit. Are not you the chief Woman? You are the thickeft here. Prin. What's your Will, Sir? What's your Will? Coft. I have a Letter from Monfieur Biron,
To one Lady Rofaline.
Prin. Othy Letter, thy Letter: He's a good Friend of Stand afide, good Bearer. Boyet, you can carve, Break up this Capon.
Boyet. I am bound to ferve.
This Letter is miftook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
Prin. We will read it, I fwear.
Break the Neck of the Wax, and every one give Ear.
Y Heaven, that thou art Fair, is most infallible; true that thou art Beauteous; Truth it felf that thou art Lovely; more fairer than Fair, beautiful than Beauteous, truer than Truth it felf; have Commiferation on thy heroi cal Vaffal. The magnanimous and moft illuftrate King Cophetua fet Eye upon the pernicious and indubitate Beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly fay, Veni, vidi, vici; which to Anatomize in the Vulgar, O base and obfcure Vulgar; videlicet, he came, faw and overcame; he came one, faw two, overcome three. Who came? the King. Why did he come? to fee. Why did he fee? to overcome. To whom came he? to the Beggar. What faw he? the Beggar. Who overcame him? the Beggar. The Conclufion is Victory; On whofe fide? the King's; the : Captive is inrich'd: On whofe fide? the Beggar's. The Catastrophe is a Nuptial: On whofe fide? the King's: No, on both in one, or one in both: I am the King, (for fo ftands the Comparison) thou the Beggar, for fo witneffeth thy Lowlinefs. Shall I command thy Love? I may. Shall I enforce thy Love? I could. Shall I entreat thy Love? I will. What fhalt thou exchange for Rags? Robes; for Tittles? Titles; for thy felf? me. Thus expecting thy Reply, I prophane my Lips on thy Foot, my Eyes on thy Picture, and my Heart on thy every Part.
Thine in the dearest design of Industry,
Don Adriana de Armado.
Thus doft thou hear the Nemean Lion roar
And he from Forage will incline to play.
But if thou ftrive (poor Soul) what art thou then?
Prin. What Plume of Feather is he that indited this Letter? What Vane? What Weathercock? Did you ever hear better?
Bøyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the Stile. Prin. Elfe your Memory is bad, going o'er it e're while. Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in Court, A Phantafme, a Monarcho, and one that makes Sport
To the Prince and his Book-mates.
Coft. I told you, my Lord.
Prin. Thou haft mistaken his Letter. Come Lords away. Here Sweet, put up this, 'twill be thine another Day.
Boyet. Who is the Shooter? who is the Shooter?
Boyet. Ay, my Continent of Beauty.
Rofa. Why the that bears the Bow. Finely put off, Boyet. My Lady goes to kill Horns; but if thou marry, Hang me by the Neck, if Horns that Year miscarry. Finely put on
Rofa. Well then, I am the Shooter.
Rofa. If we chufe by Horns, your felf; come not near.
Mar. You ftill wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the Brow.
Boyet. But the her felf is hit lower.
Have I hit her now?
Rofa. Shall I come upon thee with an old Saying, That was a Man when King Pippin of France was a little Boy, as touching the hit it.
Bojet. So I may anfwer thee with one as old, That was a Woman, when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little Wench, as touching the hit it.
Rofa. Thou can't not hit it, hit it, hit it.
Thou can't not hit it, my good Man.
Boyet. I cannot, cannot, cannot.
And I cannot another can.
Coft. By my troth most pleasant, how both did fit it. Mar. A Mark marvellous well fhot; for they both did
Boyet. A Mark, O mark but that Mark! a Mark, fays my Lady.
Let the Mark have a Prickin't, to meet at, if it may be. Mar. Wide a'th bow Hand, i'faith your Hand is out. Coft. Indeed a'must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the Clout.
Boyet. And if my Hand be out, then belike your Hand
Coft. Then will the get the upshot by cleaving the Pin. Mar. Come, come, you talk greafily, your Lips grow foul.
Coft. She's too hard for you at Pricks, Sir, challenge her to bowl.
Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; good night, my good Owl. Coft. By my Soul a Swain, a moft fimple Clown. Lord, Lord! how the Ladies and I have put him down. O my troth moft fweet Jefts, moft incony vulgar Wit, When it come fo fmoorly off, fo obfcenely, as it were, fo fit.
Armado a'th to fide, O a most dainty Man.
To fee him walk before a Lady, and to bear her Fan. To fee him kiss his Hand, and how moft fweetly he will fwear:
And his Page at other fide, that handful of Wit,
f Shout within.
Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Nathaniel. Nath. Very reverent Sport truly, and done in the Teftimony of a good Confcience."
Hol. The Deer was (as you know) fanguis in Blood, ripe. as a Pomwater, who now hangeth like a Jewel in the Ear of Cœlo the Sky, the Welkin, the Heaven, and anon falleth like a Crab on the Face of Terra, the Soil, the Land, the Earth.
Nath. Truly Mafter Holofernes, the Epithetes are fweetly varied like a Schollar at the leaft: But, Sir, I affure ye, was a Buck of the firft Head.
Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Hol. Moft barbarous Intimation; yet a kind of Infinuation, as it were in via, in way of Explication facere, as it were Replication, or rather oftentare, to fhow as it were his Inclination after his undreffed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or rathereft unconfirmed Fashion, to infert again my hand credo for a Deer.
Dull. I faid the Deer was not a haud credo, 'twas a Pricket.
Hol. Twice fod Simplicity, bis coctus; O thou Monster Ignorance, how deformed doeft thou look?
Nath. Sir, he hath never fed on the Dainties that are bred in a Book.
He hath not eat Paper as it were;
His Intellect is not replenished, he is only an Animal, only fenfible in the duller parts; and fuch barren Plants are fet before us, that we thankful fhould be; which we tafte, and feeling, are for thofe Parts that do fructifie in us more than he.
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a Fool;
So were there a Patch fet on Learning, to see him in a
But omne bene fay I, being of an old Father's Mind,
Dull. You too are Book-men; Can you tell by your Wit, what was a Month old at Cains Birth, that's not five Weeks old as yet?
Hol. Dictinna Good-man Dull, Dictinna Good-man Dull.
Nath. A Title to Phebe, to Luna, to the Moon.
Hol. The Moon was a Month old when Adam was no
And wrought not to five Weeks when he came to fivefcore. Th' Allufion holds in the Exchange.
Dull. 'Tis true indeed, the Collufion holds in the Exchange.
Hol. God comfort thy Capacity, I fay the Allufion holds in the Exchange.
Dull. And I fay the Pollufion holds in the Exchange; for the Moon is never but a Month old; and I fay befide 'twas a Pricket that the Princefs kill'd.