King

Reat Deputy, the Welkin's Vicegerent, and fole Dominator of Navarre, my Soul's Earth's God, and Body's foftring Patron

Coft. Not a word of Coftard yet.

King. So it is

Coff. It may be fo; but if he fay it is fo, he is in telling true: but fo.

King. Peace,

Coft. Be to me, and every Man that dares not fight.
King. No Words,

Coft. Of other Mens Secrets I beseech you.

King. So it is, befieged with fable-coloured Melancholly, I did commend the black oppreffing Humour to the most wholeJome Phyfick of thy health-giving Air; and as I am a Gentleman, betook my felf to walk: The Time when? about the fixth Hour, when Beasts most graze, Birds best peck, and Men fit down to that Nourishment which is call'd Supper: So much for the Time when. Now for the Ground which: which I mean I walkt upon, it is ycleped, thy Park. Then for the Place where, where I mean I did incounter that obscene and most prepofterous Event that draweth from my snow-white Pen the Eboncolour'd Ink, which here thou vieweft, beholdeft, furveyeft, or feeft. But to the Place where: It standeth North North East and by Eaft from the Weft-corner of thy curious knotted Garden. There did I fee that low-fpirited Swain, that bafe Minow of thy Mirth, (Coft. Me?) that unlettered small-knowing Soul, (Coft. Me?) that shallow Vaffal, (Coft. Still me?) which as I remember, hight Coftard, (Coft. O me.) førted and conforted contrary to thy established proclaimed Edict and continent Cannon: Which with, O with, but with this I passion to Say wherewith:

Coft. With a Wench.

King. With a Child of our Grandmother Eve, a Female; or, for thy more understanding, a Woman; bim, I (as my ever efteem'd Duty pricks me on) have fent to thee, to receive the meed of Punishment by thy Sweet Grace's Officer, Anthony Dull, a Man of good repute, carriage, bearing and eftimation. Dul. Me, an't fhall please you? I am Anthony Dull. King. For Jaquenetta (fo is the weaker Vessel called ) which I apprehended with the aforefaid Swain, I keep her as a veffel of thy Laws fury, and shalk at the leaft of thy sweet

notice, bring her to a Trial. Thine in all complements of devoted and heart-burning heat of Duty,

Don Adriana de Armado.

Biron. This is not fo well as I look'd for, but the best that ever I heard.

King. Ay the best for the worst. But Sirrah, What say you to this?

Coft. Sir, I confefs the Wench.

King. Did you hear the Proclamation ?

Coff. I do confefs much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it.

King. It was proclaim'd a Year's Imprisonment to be taken with a Wench.

Coft. I was taken with none, Sir, I was taken with a Damofel.

King. Well, it was proclaimed Damofel.

Coft. This was no Damofel neither, Sir, fhe was a Virgin.
King. It is fo varied too, for it was proclaim'd Virgin.
Coft. If it were, I deny her Virginity: I was taken with
a Maid.

King. This Maid will not ferve your turn, Sir,
Coft. This Maid will ferve my turn, Sir.

King. Sir, I will pronounce your Sentence; you fhall fast a Week with Bran and Water.

Coft. I had rather pray a Month with Mutton and Porridge.

King. And Don Armado fhall be
your Keeper.
My Lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er,
And go we Lords to put in practice that
Which each to other hath fo ftrongly fworn.
Biron. I'll lay my Head to any good Man's Hat;
Thefe Oaths and Laws will prove an idle Scorn.
Sirrah, come on.

[Exeunt.

Coft. I fuffer for the Truth Sir: For true it is, I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true Girl, and therefore welcome the four Cup of Profperity: Affliction may one Day fmile again, and until then fit down [Exeunt.

Sorrow.

Enter

Enter Armado and Moth.

Arm. Boy, what Sign is it when a Man of great Spirit grows Melancholy?

Moth. A great Sign, Sir, that he will look fad.

Arm. Why? Sadnefs is one and the self-fame thing, dear

Imp.

Moth. No, no, O Lord Sir, no.

Arm. How canft thou part Sadness and Melancholy, my tender Juvenal?

Moth. By a familiar Demonftration of the working, my tough Signior.

Arm. Why tough Signior? Why tough Signior?

Moth. Why tender Juvenal? Why tender Juvenal?

Arm. I fpoke it tender Juvenal, as a congruent Epitheton, appertaining to thy young Days, which we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I tough Signior, as an appertinent Title to your old time, which we may name tough.

Arm. Pretty and apt.

Moth. How mean you, Sir, I pretty, and

or. I apt, and my Saying pretty?

Arm. Thou pretty, becaufe little.

my Saying apt?

Moth. Little pretty, becaufe little; wherefore apt?

Arm. And therefore apt, becaufe quick.

Moth. Speak you this in my Praise, Master?

Arm. In thy condign Praise.

Moth. I will praise an Eel with the fame Praise.

Arm. What? that an Eel is ingenious.

Moth. That an Eel is quick.

Arm. I do fay thou art quick in Anfwers. Thou heat'st

my Blood.

Moth. I am anfwer'd, Sir.

Arm. I love not to be croft.

Moth. He fpeaks the clean contrary, croffes Love not him. Arm. I have promis'd to ftudy three Years with the Duke. Moth. You may do it in an hour, Sir.

Arm. Impoffible.

Moth. How many is one thrice told?

Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fits the spirit of a Tapfter. Moth. You are a Gentleman and a Gamefter, Sir.

Arm. I confefs both, they are both the varnish of a compleat Man.

Moth,

Moth. Then I am fure you know how much the grofs Sum of deuf-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.

Moth. Which the base vulgar call three.

Arm. True.

Moth. Why, Sir, is this fuch a piece of Study? Now here's three ftudied c'er you'l thrice wink; and how eafie it is to put Years to the Word three, and ftudy three Years in two Words, the Dancing-horfe will tell you.

Arm. A most fine Figure.

Moth. To prove you a Cypher.

Arm. I will hereupon confefs I am in love; and as it is bafe for a Soldier to love, fo am I in love with a base Wench. If drawing my Sword against the Humour of Affection, would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I take Defire Prifoner, and ranfom him to any French Courtier for a new devis'd Courtesy. I think scorn to figh, methinks I fhould out-fwear Cupid. Comfort me, Boy: What great Men have been in Love?

Moth. Hercules, Mafter.

Arm. Moftfweet Hercules! More Authority, dear Moth, name more; and sweet my Child, let them be Men of good Repute and Carriage.

Moth. Sampfon, Mafter, he was a Man of good Carriage, great Carriage; for he carried the Town Gates on his Back like a Porter, and he was in Love.

Arm. O well-knit Sampfon, ftrong-jointed Sampfon; Ido excel thee in my Rapier as much as thou didft me in carrying Gates. I am in Love too. Who was Sampson's Love,

my dear Moth?

Moth. A Woman, Master.

Arm. Of what Complexion?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precifely of what Complexion?

Moth. Of the Sea-water Green, Sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four Complexions?

Moth. As I have read, Sir, and the best of them too. Arm. Green, indeed, is the Colour of Lovers; but to have a Love of that Colour, methinks Sampfon had small Reafon for it. He furely affected her for her Wit.

Moth.

Moth. It was fo, Sir, for fhe had a green Wit.

Arm. My Love is most immaculate White and Red. Moth. Moft immaculate Thoughts, Mafter, are mask'd under fuch Colours.

me.

Arm. Define, define, well educated Infant.

Moth. My Father's Wit and my Mother's Tongue affift

Arm. Sweet Invocation of a Child, most thetical.

Moth. If the be made of White and Red,
Her Faults will ne'er be known;

For blufhing Cheeks by Faults are bred,
And Fears by pale white fhown ;
Then if the fear, or be to blame,
By this you shall not know,

For ftill her Cheeks poffefs the fame,
Which Native fhe doth owe..

pretty and pa

A dangerous Rime, Mafter, against the Reafon of White and Red.

Arm. Is there not a Ballad, Boy, of the King and the Beggar ?

Moth. The World was guilty of fuch a Ballad fome three Ages fince, but I think now 'tis not to be found; or if it were, it would neither ferve for the Writing, nor the Tune.

Arm. I will have that Subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my Digreffion by fome mighty Prefident. Boy, I do love that Country Girl that I took in the Park with the Rational Hind Coftard; the deferves well.

Moth. To be whipp'd, and yet a better Love than my Mafter.

Arm. Sing Moth, my Spirit grows heavy in Love. Moth. And that's a great marvel, loving a light Wench. Arm. I fay fing.

Moth. Forbear 'till this Company be past.

Enter Coftard, Dull, Jaquenetta and Maid. Dull. Sir, the Duke's Pleafure is, that you keep Coftard fafe, and you must let him take no Delight, nor no Penance, but he muft faft three Days a Week; for this DamVOL. I.

Dd

fel,