Moth. He fpeaks contrary, croffes* love not him. [Afide. Arm. I have promis'd to study three years with the King.

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 art a gentleman and a gamefter.

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

Moth. Then I am fure you know how much the grofs fum of deuce-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 ere you'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing-horse will tell you.

Arm. A moft fine figure.

Motb. To prove you a cypher.

[Afide.

Arm. I will hereupon confefs I am in love; and as it is bafe for a foldier to love, fo am I in love with a base wench. If drawing my fword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take defire prifoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devis'd curt'fie. I think it fcorn to figh, methinks I fhould out-fwear Cupid. Comfort me, boy: what great men have been in love?

Moth. Hercules, maiter.

Arm. Moft fweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more: and, fweet 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! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in

• Meaning, Money.

car.

carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Sampson's

love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, mafter.

Arm. Of what complection?

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

Arm. Tell me precifely of what complection?
Moth. Of the fea-water green, Sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four complections?

Moth. As I have read, Sir, and the beft 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. It was fo, Sir, for fhe had a green wit.

Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Moft maculate thoughts, mafter, are mask'd under fuch colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant."

Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue affift me! Arm, Sweet invocation of a child, moft pretty and pathes tical!

Moth. If fhe be made of white and red,

Her faults will ne'er be known;

For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale-white shown;

Then if the fear, or be to blame,
By this you fhall not know,

For ftill her cheeks poffefs the fame,
Which native the doth owe.

A dangerous rhime, mafter, against the reason 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 some three ages fince, but, I think, now 'tis not to be found; or if it it were, it would neither ferve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have that fubject 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 irrational hind Coftard; the deferves well

Motb.

Moth. To be whipp'd; and yet a better love than my mafter deferves.

[Afide, Arm. Sing, boy; my fpirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench. Arm. I fay, fing.

Moth. Forbear, 'till this company be past.

SCENE IV. Enter Coftard, Dull, and Jaquenetta. Dull. Sir, the King's pleasure is, that you keep Coftard fafe, and you must let him take no delight, nor no penance; but he must faft three days a week. For this damfel, I must keep her at the park, the is allow'd for the daywoman, Fare you well.

Arm. I do betray my self with blushing: maid.
Jaq. Man.

Arm. I will vifit thee at the lodge.

Jaq. That's here by.

Arm. I know where it is fituate.
Faq. Lord, how wife you are!
Arm, I will tell thee wonders.
Jaq. With that face?

Arm. I love thee.

Jaq. So I heard you fay,

Arm. And fo farewel.

Jaq. Fair weather after you!

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.

[Exeunt.

Arm. Villain, thou fhalt faft for thy, offence ere thou be

pardoned.

Coft. Well, Sir, I hope when I do it, I shall do it on a full ftomach.

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punish'd.

Coft. I am more bound to you than your followers, for they are but lightly rewarded.

Arm. Take away this villain, fhut him up.

Moth. Come, you tranfgreffing flave, away.

Coft. Let me not be pent up, Sir, I will be fat being

loofe.

Moth. No, Sir, that were faft and loofe; thou shalt to prifon.

Coft. Well, if ever I do fee the merry days of defolation that I have feen, fome fhall fee→

Motb.

Moth. What fhall fome fee?

Coft. Nay, nothing, mafter Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prifoners to be filent in their words and therefore I will fay nothing; I thank God, I have as little patience as another man, and therefore I can be quiet. [Exit Moth with Coftard.

Arm. I do affect the very ground (which is base) where her fhoe (which is bafer) guided by her foot (which is bafeft) doth tread. I fhall be forfworn, which is a great angu ment of falfhood, if I love. And how can that be true love, which is falfely attempted? love is a familiar, love is a devil; there is no evil angel but love, yet Sampson was fo tempted, and he had an excellent ftrength; yet was Solomon fo feduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid's but fhaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier; the firft and fecond cause will not serve my turn; the Paffado he refpects not, the Duello he regards not; his difgrace is to be call'd boy; but his glo ry is to fubdue men. Adieu, valour! ruft, rapier! be ftill, drum! for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Af fift me, fome extemporal God of rhime, for I am fure I fhall turn fonneteer. Devife, wit! write, pen! for I am for whole volumes in folio. [Exita

ACT II.

1

SCENE I.
Before the King of Navarre's palace.

Enter the Princess of France, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine,
Boyet, Lords and other attendants,

Boyet.

N

OW, Madam, fummon up your deareft fpirits
Confider whom the King your father fends
To whom he fends, and what's his embassy.
Your felf, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the fole inheritor

Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchlefs Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitain, a dowry for a Queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When she did starve the general world befide,
And prodigally gave them all to
you.

Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base fale of chapmen's tongues.
I am lefs proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than you are willing to be counted wife,
In fpending thus your wit in praise of mine.
But now to task the tasker; good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noife abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
"Till painful ftudies fhall out-wear three years,
No woman may approach his filent court;
Therefore to us feems it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
Bold of your worthinefs, we fingle you
As our best moving fair follicitor.

Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,
On ferious bufinefs, craving quick dispatch,
Importunes perfonal conference with his Grace,
Hafte, fignifie fo much, while we attend,
Like humble-vifag'd fuitors, his high will.

Boyet. Proud of imployment, willingly I go.
Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is fo;

Who are the votaries, my loving lords,

That are vow-fellows with this virtuous King?
Lord, Longaville is one.

Prin. Know you the man?

Lord, I knew him, Madam, at a marriage-feaft, Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir

Of Jaques Faulconbridge folemnized.

Mar. In Normandy faw I this Longaville,
A man of fovereign parts he is efteem'd ;
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms,
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
The only foil of his fair virtue's glofs,
(If virtue's glofs will ftain with any foil,)
Is a fharp wit match'd with too blunt a will;

Whofe edge hath power to cut, whefe will ftill wills
It fhould fpare none that come within his power.

2

[Exit.

Prin.