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Coft. Not a word of Coftard yet.

King. So it is

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

King. Peace

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Coft. Be to me, and every man that dares not fight! King. No words.

Coft. Of other men's fecrets, I beseech you.

King. So it is, befieged with fable-coloured melancholy, I did commend the black oppreffing humour to the most wholeSome phyfick of thy health-giving air; and as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk: The time, when? about the fixth hour, when beasts moft graze, birds beft peck, and men fit down to that nourishment which is call'd fupper : fo much for the time, when. Now for the ground, which: which, I mean, I walk'd upon; it is ycleped, thy park. Then for the place, where; where, I mean, I did encounter that obfcene and most prepofterous event, that draweth from my fnow-white pen the ebon coloured ink, which here thou vieweft, beholdeft, furveyeft, or feeft. But to the place, where; it ftandeth north-north-eaft and by eaft from the weft corner of thy curious-knotted garden. There did I fee that low-fpirited fwain, that base minow of thy mirth, (Coft. Me?) that unletter'd small-knowing foul, (Coft. Me?) that fhallow-vaffal, (Coft. Still me!) which, as I remember, bight Coftard; (Coft. O me!) forted and conforted, contrary to thy eftablished proclaimed edit and continent canon, with, with,- O with, -but with this I paffion to fay 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-esteem'd duty pricks me on) have fent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, by thy fweet Grace's officer,` Anthony Dull, a man of good repute, carriage, bearing and eftimation.

Dull. Me, an't shall please you: I am Anthony Dull. King. For Jaquenetta, (fo is the weaker veffel call'd) which I apprehended with the forefaid fawain, I keep her as a vafal of thy law's fury, and fhall at the leaft of thy

Sweet

fweet notice bring her to trial. Thine in all compliments of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty,

Don Adriano de Armado.

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

King. Ay; the beft for the worft. But, firrah, 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.

Sir.

King. This maid will not ferve your turn, Coft. This maid will ferve my turn, Sir. King. Sir, I will pronounce fentence; you shall 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, fee him deliver'd o'er,

And go we, Lords, to put in practice that,

Which each to other hath fo ftrongly fworn. [Exe.
Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,
These oaths and laws will prove an idle fcorn.

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: affiction may one day fmile again, and untill then, fit thee down, forrow. [Exeunt.

SCENE.

SCENE changes to Armado's house.

Enter Armado, and Moth.

Arm. B grows melancholy?
BOY

OY, what is it, when a man of great fpirit

Moth. A great fign, Sir, that he will look fad. Arm. Why, fadness is one and the self-fame thing, dear imp.

Moth. No, no; O lord, Sir, no.

Arm. How can't thou part sadness 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 Juvenile? 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, becaufe little.

Moth. Little! pretty, becaufe little; wherefore apt?

Arm. And therefore apt, becaufe quick.

Moth. Speak you this in my praife, mafter?

Arm. In thy condign praife.

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. Thon

heat'ft my blood.

Moth. I am answer'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 study three years with the King,
Moth. You may do it in an hour, Sir.

Arm. Impoffible.

Moth

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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 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 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 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 am I in love with a bafe 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 court'fy. it fcorns to figh; methinks, I fhould out-fwear Cupid. I think 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. 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 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?

Moth.

Moth. Of the fea-water green, Sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions?

Math. 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, Samplon had small reafon for it. He, furely, affected her for her wit. Moth. It was fo, Sir, for she had a green wit. Arm. My love is moft immaculate white and red. Moth. Moft maculate thoughts, mafter, are mafk'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. 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 shall not know;
For ftill her cheeks poffefs the fame,
Which native the doth owe.

A dangerous rhime, master, 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 1; or if 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 precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Coftard; fhe deferves well

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

Arm. Sing, boy; my fpi.it 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.

Enter

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