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Boyet. And wherefore not fhips?

No fheep, (fweet lamb) unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You fheep, and I pasture; fhall that finish the jeft?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.
Mar. Not fo, gentle beast ;

My lips are no common, though feveral they be.
Boyet. Belonging to whom?

Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,


This civil war of wits were much better us'd

On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd.
Boyet. If my obfervation, (which very feldom lies)
By the heart's ftill rhetorick, difclofed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

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Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected.
Prin. Your reafon ?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire To the Court of his eye, peeping thorough defire: His heart, like an agat with your print impreffed, Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed : His tongue, all impatient to speak and not fee, Did ftumble with hafte in his eye-fight to be: All fenfes to that fenfe did make their repair, To feel only looking on fairest of fair; Methought, all his fenfes were lock'd in his eye, As jewels in cryftal for fome Prince to buy ;

Who tendring their own worth, from whence they were



Did point out to buy them, along as you past.
His face's own margent did quote fuch amazes,
That all eyes faw his eyes inchanted with gazes:
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,

An' you give him for my fake but one loving kifs.
Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is difpos'd -
Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye
hath difclos'd;


I only

I only have made a mouth of his eye,

By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. Rof. Thou art an old love-monger, and fpeakest skilfully.

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.

Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ?
Mar. No.

Boyet. What then, do you fee?
Rof. Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet. You are too hard for me. (8)


SCENE, the Park; near the Palace.

Enter Armado and Moth.

7Arble, child; make paffionate my sense of

Arm. W hearing.

Moth. Concolinel


Arm. Sweet Air! go, tenderness of years; take this key, give inlargement to the fwain; bring him festinately hither: I muft employ him in a letter to my


Moth. Mafter, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How mean'ft thou, brawling in French?

(8) Boyet. You are too hard for me.] Here, in all the Books, the 2d Act is made to end: but in my Opinion very mistakenly. I have ventur'd to vary the Regulation of the four last A&ts from the printed Copies, for these Reasons. Hitherto, the 2d A&t has been of the Extent of 7 Pages; the 3d but of s; and the 5th of no less than 29. And this Difproportion of Length has crouded too many Incidents into fome A&ts, and left the others quite barren. I have now reduced them into a much better Equality; and distributed the Bufiness likewise, (such as it is,) into a more uniform Caft.


Moth. No, my compleat master (9); but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids; figh a note and fing a note; fometimes through the throat, as if you fwallow'd love with finging love; fometimes through the nofe, as if you fnuft up love by smelling love; with your hat penthoufe-like, o'er the fhop of your eyes; with your arms croft on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbet on a spit; or your hands in your ocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away: these are complements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without these, and make the men of note (10): do you note men, that are most affected to these?

Arm. How haft thou purchas'd this experience?
Moth. By my pen of observation,

Arm. But O, but O

Moth. The hobby-horfe is forgot. (11)


(9) Moth. No, my compleat Master, &c.] This whole Speech has been fo terribly confused in the Pointing, through all the Editions hitherto, that not the leaft glimmering of Sense was to be pick'd out of it. As I have regulated the Paffage, I think, Moth delivers both good Senfe and good Humour.

(10) thefe betray nice Wenches, that would be betray'd without thefe, and make them Men of Note.] Thus all the Editors, with a Sagacity worthy of Wonder. But who will ever be lieve, that the odd Attitudes and Affectations of Lovers, by which they betray young Wenches, should have power to make thofe young Wenches Men of Note? This is a Transformation, which, I dare fay, the Poet never thought of. His Meaning is, that they not only inveigle the young Girls, but make the Men taken notice of too, who affect them.

(11) Arm. But O, but O

Moth. The Hobby-horse is forgot.] The Humour of this Reply of Moth's to Armado, who is fighing in Love, cannot be taken without a little Explanation: nor why there fhould be any room for making such a Reply. In the Rites formerly obferv'd for the Celebration of May-day, besides thofe now

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Arm. Call'st thou my love hobby-horse?

Moth. No, mafter; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney: but have you forgot your love?

Arm. Almoft I had.

Moth. Negligent ftudent, 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 out of, upon the inftant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her: in heart you love her, because 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 fwain, he muft carry me a letter.

Moth. A meffage well fympathiz'd; a horfe to be embaffador for an afs.

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

Moth. Marry, Sir, you must fend the afs upon the horfe, for he is very flow-gated: but I go.

us'd of hanging a Pole with Garlands, and dancing round it, a Boy was dreft up representing Maid Marian; another, like a Fryar; and another rode on a Hobby-horfe, with Bells jingling, and painted Streamers. After the Reformation took place, and Precifians multiplied, these latter Rites were look'd upon to favour of Paganism; and then Maid Marian, the Fryar, and the poor Hobby-horse were turn'd out of the Games. Some, who were not fo wifely precife, but regretted the Disuse of the Hobby-horje, no doubt, fatiriz'd this Sufpicion of Idolatry, and archly wrote the Epitaph above alluded to. Now Moth, hearing Armado groan ridiculously, and cry out, But oh! but oh! hamourously pieces out his Exclamation with the Sequel of this Epitaph: which is putting his Mafter's Love-Paffion, and the Lofs of the Hobby-horse, on a Footing.


Arm. The way is but short; away.
Moth. As fwift as lead, Sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?

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Is not lead a metal heavy, dull and flow?

Moth. Minimè, honeft master; or rather, master, no.
Arm. I fay, lead is flow.

Moth. You are too fwift, 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 acute Juvenile, voluble and free of


By thy favour, fweet welkin, I muft figh in thy face. Moft rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. "My herald is return'd.

Re-enter Moth and Coftard.

Math. A wonder, mafter, here's a Coftard broken in a fhin.

Arm. Some enigma, fome riddle; come, thy l'envoy begin.

Coft. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no falve in the male, Sir. O Sir, plantan, a plain plantan; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, or falve, Sir, but plantan.

Arm. By vertue, thou enforceft laughter; thy filly thought, my fpleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous fmiling: O pardon me, my ftars! doth the inconfiderate take falve l'envoy, and the word l'envoy for a falve?

Moth. Doth the wife think them other? is not l'envoy a falve?


Arm. No, page, it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain

Some obfcure precedence that hath tofore been fain. I will example it. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were ftill at odds, being but three.



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