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Hol. Master person,- quasi pers-on. And if one should be pierced, which is the one?

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead.

Hol. Of piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine: 'tis pretty: it is well.

Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armatho: I beseech you, read it. Hol. 31 Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne

sub umbra Ruminat,—and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice;

Vinegia, Vinegia,

Chi non te. vede, ei non te pregia 32. Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not, loves thee not.—Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, rather, as Horace says in his-What, my soul, verses?

Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.

Ilol. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse; Lege, domine. Nath. If love make me forsworn, how shall I

swear to love? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful

prove; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like

osiers bowed.

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine

eyes; Where all those pleasures live, that art would

comprehend: If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suf

fice; Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee

commend : All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without won

der; (Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts

admire;) Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread

ful thunder, Which, not to anger bent, is musick, and sweet

fire. Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly

tongue! Hol. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent: let me supervize the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified: but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso; but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari, is nothing: so doth the bound his master, the ape bis keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directed to you?

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen's lords.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript. To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosa. line. I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto:

Your Ladyship's in all desired employment, Biron. Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the king: and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried.—Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king; it may concern much: Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty; adieu.

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me.—Sir, God save your life!

Cost. Have with thee, my girl. [Exeunt Cost andJaq.

Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain father saith

Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear co. lourable colours. But, to return to the verses; Did they please you, Sir Nathaniel?

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention: I beseech your society.

Nath. And thank you too: for society, (saith the text,) is the happiness of life.

Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.—Sir, [To Dull.] I do invite you too; you shall not say me, nay: pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Another Part of the same.

Enter Biron, with a paper. Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they bave pitch'd a toil; I am toiling in a pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile! a foul word. Well, Set thee down, sorrow! for so, they say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit! By the lord, this love is as mad as Ajax : it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: Well proved again on my side! I will not love: If I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye, by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world, but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one of my sonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would rot care a pin if the other three were in: Here comes one with a paper; God give bim grace to groan!

[Gets up into a tree. Enter the King, with a paper. King. Ah me!

Biron. [aside.] Shot, by heaven!— Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt, under the left pap:-l'faith secrets.King. [reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun

gives not To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote

The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright

Through the transparent bosom of the deep,' As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;

Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep: No drop l'ut as a coach doth carry thee,

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe; Do but bchold the tears that swell in me, And they thy glory through my grief will

show: But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. () queen of queens, how far dost thou excel! No thought can think, nor longue of mortal tell.How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper; Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?

[Steps aside.

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