King. Ay; the beft for the worst. But, firrahı, what fay you to this? Coft. Sir, I confefs the wench. King. Did you hear the proclamation? Coft. 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. King. Sir, I will pronounce sentence; you shall faft 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, fee him deliver'd o'er. And go we, lords, to put in practice that, Which each to other hath fo ftrongly fworn. [Exeunt. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, Thefe oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. Sirrah, come on. 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 thee down, forrow. [Exeunt. SCENE SCENE VIII. Changes to Armado's Houfe. Enter Armado, and Moth., Arm. BOY, what fign is it, when a man of fpirit grows melancholy? great Moth. A great fign, Sir, that he will look fad. Arm. Why, fadnefs is one and the felf-fame thing, dear imp'. Moth. No, no; O lord, Sir, no. Arm. How can't thou part fadnefs and melancholy, my tender Juvenile ? Moth. By a familiar demonftration of the working, my tough Signior. Arm. Why, tough Signior? why, tough Signior? Moth. Why, tender Juvenile? why, tender Juve nile? Arm. I fpoke it, .tender Juvenile, 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 my faying apt? or I apt, and my faying pretty? Arm. Thou pretty, because little. Moth. Little! pretty, because little; wherefore apt? Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master? dear Imp.] Imp was anciently a term of dignity. Lord Cromwel in his laft letter to Henry VIII. prays for the imp his fon. It is now used only in contempt or abhorrence; perhaps in our authour's time it was ambiguous, in which ftate it fuits well with this dialogue. Moth. Moth. I will praise an eel with the fame praife. Arm. I do fay, thou art quick in anfwers. Thouheat'ft 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 2. Arm. I have promis'd to ftudy three years with the King. Moth. You may do it in an hour, Sir. Moth. How many is one thrice told? Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fits the fpirit of a tapfter. Moth. You are a gentleman and a gamester. 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 duce-ate amounts to. Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. Moth. Which the base vulgar call, three. Moth. Why, Sir, is this fuch a piece of study? now here's three ftudied ere you'll thrice wink; and how eafy it is to put years to the word three, and ftudy three years in two words, the dancing-horfe will tell you. Arm. A moft fine figure. Moth. To prove you a cypher. Arm. I will hereupon confefs, I am in love; and, as it is bafe for a foldier to love, fo I am in love with a bafe wench. If drawing my fword against the hu croffes love not him.] to Celia, if I fhould bear you, I By croffes he means money. So fhould bear no cross, in As you like it, the Clown fays mour 'I mour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Defire prifoner; and ranfom him to any French courrier for a new-devis'd curt'fy. I think it fcorn to figh; methinks, I fhould out-fwear Cupid. Comfort me, boy; what great men have been in love? Moth. Hercules, mafter. Arm. Moft fweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more; and, fweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage. Moth. Sampson, 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 Sampson! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Sampfon'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? Arm. Is that one of the four complexions? 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 fmall 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, master, 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, most pretty and pathetical! Moth. Moth. If he be made of white and red, Her faults will ne'er be known; A dangerous rhime, 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. I Arm. I will have that fubject newly writ o'er, that may example my digreffion by fome mighty prece dent. 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 master. 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 is past. SCENE IV. Enter Coftard, Dull, Jaquenetta a Maid. Dul, 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 fast three days a-week. For this damfel, I must keep her at the park, fhe is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well. Arm. |