Of his almighty dreadful little might.

Well, I will love, write, figh, pray, sue, and groan;
Some men must love my lady, and fome Joan.

[Exit.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

A Pavilion in the Park near the Palace.

Enter the Princess, Rofaline, Maria, Katharine, Lords, Attendants, and a Forefter.

Prin. Was that the king that spurr'd his horse so hard Against the steep uprifing of the hill?

Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he.

Prin. Whoe'er he was, he fhew'd a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to day we shall have our dispatch;
On faturday we will return to France,-
Then, forefter, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murderer in ?
For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A ftand where you may make the fairest shoot.
Prin. I thank my beauty; I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou fpeak'ft the fairest fhoot.

For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not fo.
Prin. What, what? first praife me, then again fay, no?
O fhort-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe!

For. Yes, madam, fair.

Prin. Nay, never paint me now;

Where fair is not, praife cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true;

[Giving him money.

Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

2 good my glass, ]-my honest mirrour (to the Forefter.)

For.

2

For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
Prin. See, see, my beauty will be fav'd by merit.

* O berefy in fair, fit for these days!

A giving hand, though foul, fhall have fair praise.—
But come, the bow:-Now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.

Thus will I fave my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
If wounding, then it was to fhew my skill,
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And out of question, fo it is fometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detefted crimes;

When, for fame's fake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart.

As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill

d

с

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curit wives hold that felf fovereignty
Only for praise' fake, when they strive to be

Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praife: and praise we may To any lady that fubdues a lord.

Enter Coftard.

afford

Prin. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

g

Coft. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the reft that have no heads.

a O herefy in fair,]—how perverfly is that term applied in this dege

nerate age.

When, &c.]-When, in the pursuit of glory, our confciences are made to truckle to any fecular confideration. that]-to whom.

d curft wives]-fhrews. e felf]-felf-affumed fovereignty.

f

ciety.

a member of the commonwealth.]—of the king's newly framed fo-
dig-you-den all!]-give you all a good day.
003

Coft.

Coft. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

Prin. The thickeft, and the tallest.

Coft. The thickeft, and the tallest! it is fo; truth is truth.

h

An your waist mistress, were as flender as my wit,
One of these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickeft here.
Prin. What's your will, fir? what's your will?
Coft. I have a letter from monfieur Biron, to one lady
Rofaline.

Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of

mine:

Stand afide, good bearer.-Boyet, you can carve;

1 Break up this capon.

Boyet. I am bound to ferve.

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;

It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin. We will read it, I fwear:

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

Boyet reads. By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely: More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiferation on thy heroical vaffal! The magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua Jet eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar * Zenelophon; and be it was that might rightly fay, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize in the vulgar, (O bafe and obfcure vulgar!) is, be came, faw, and overcame: He came, one; faw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the king; Why did he come? to fee; Why did he fee? to overcome: To whom came be? to the beggar; What faw he? the beggar; Whom overcame be?

h your. iBreak up this capon.] Open this letter. Capon being put for poulet, which fignifies both a chicken and a love-letter. Zenelophon ;]-Penelophon-alluding to the ballad of " King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid."

the

the beggar: The conclufion is victory; On whofe fide? the king's: the captive is enrich'd; On whofe fide? the beggar's : The catastrophe is a nuptial; On whofe fide? the king's ?—no ; on both in one, or one in both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison: thou the beggar; for fo witnesseth thy lowlinefs. Shall I command thy love? I may: Shall I enforce thy love? I could: Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; For tittles? titles: For thyself? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I prophane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine, in the dearest design of industry,

DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.

Thus doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey; Submiffive fall his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play :

But if thou strive, poor foul, what art thou then?

Food for his rage, repafture for his den.

Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited this

letter?

What vane? what weather-cock? Did you ever hear better?

Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the ftile. Prin. Elfe your memory is bad, going o'er 'it ere

while.

Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in

court;

"A phantafma, a Manarcho; and one that makes fport To the prince, and his book-mates.

Prin. Thou, fellow a word:

Who gave thee this letter?

1it ere while.]-the ftile juft now.

mA Phantafma,]-A vain

flutterer-a certain conceited foreigner, with whofe peculiarities Q. Eli

zubeth's courtiers were much diverted.

Coft. I told you; my lord.

Prin. To whom fhouldft thou give it?
Coft. From my lord to my lady.

Prin. From which lord, to which lady?

Coft. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, To a lady of France, that he call'd Rofaline.

n

Prin. Thou haft mistaken his letter. Come, ladies, away. Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day. [Exit Princess attended.

Boyet. Who is the fhooter? who is the shooter?

Rof. Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Rof. Why, the that bears the bow.

Finely put off!

Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marr, Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.

Finely put on!

Rof. Well then, I am the fhooter.

Boyet. And who is your deer?

Rof. If we chufe by horns, yourfelf; come not near. Finely put on indeed!-

Mar. You ftill wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.

Boyet. But the herself is hit lower: Have I hit her now? Rof: Shall I come upon thee with an old faying, that was a man when king Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.

Rof. Thou can'ft not hit it, bit it, hit it,

Thou can't not hit it, my good man,

'twill be thine]-thine will come.

[Singing.

• Shooter?]—fuitor, for

merly pronounced footer. P Guinever]-K. Arthur's faithlefs confort.

Boyet.