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Coft. Not a word of Coftard yet.
King. So it is
Coff. It may be fo; båt if he say it is so, he is, in
telling true, but fo.

King. Peace
Coft. Be to me, and every man that dares not fight!
King. No words.
Cost. Of other men's secrets, I beseech you.

King. So it is, besieged with fable-coloured melancholy, I did commend the black opprefing humour to the most wholefome pbyfack of thy bealtkozi ving air ; and as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk : The time, when ? about the fixth bour, when beasts molt graze, birds beft peck, and men sit down to that nourishment which is calld supper : so 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 encoun, ter that obscene and most preposterous event, that draweth from my snow-white pen the ebon coloured ink, which here thou viewest, beholdeft, furveyeft, or feeft. But to the place, where ; it fandeth north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted garden. There did I see that low-spirited fwain, that base minow of ihy mirth, (Coft. Me?) that unletter'd small-knowing foul, (Cost. Me?) that shallow-valal, (Cost. Still me!) which, as I Ten ember, bight Coftard; Co. O me!) forted and conforted, contrary to tby eftablished proclaimed edi&t and continent canon, with, with, with, but with this I pasfon to say 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) bave sent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, by thy sweet Grace's officer, Anthony Dull, a man of good repute, carriage, bearing and estimation. Dull

. Me, an't shall please you : I am Anthony Dull. King. For Jaquenetta, (so is the weaker vessel calld) which I apprehended with the forefaid fwain, I keep her as a vasal of thy law's fury, and mall at the least of thy

sweet

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frweet 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 so well as I look'd for, but the best that ever I heard.

King. Ay; the best for the worst. But, firrah, what fay you to this ? Coft. Sir, I confess the wench. King. Did you hear the proclamation ?

Coff. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it.

King. It was proclaim’d a year's imprifonment to be taken with a wench,

Colt. I was taken with none, Sir, I was taken with a damosel.

King. Well, it was proclaimed damofel.
Cost. This was no damosel neither, ir, she was a virgin.
King. It is so varied too, for it was proclaim'd virgin.

Cof. If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with a maid.

King. This maid will not serve your turn, Sir. Coff. This maid will serve my turn, Sir. King. Sir, I will pronounce sentence ; you shall fait a week with bran and water.

Colt. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.

King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. My Lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er, And go we, Lords, to put in practice that,

Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. [Exe. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,

These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. Sirrah, come on..

Coft. I suffer 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 prosperity: affiction may one day smile again, and untill then, fit thee down, sorrow.

(Exeunt.

SCENE.

SCENE changes to Armado's house.

to

Enter Armado, and Moth.
Arm. OY, what is it, when a man of great spirit

grows melancholy?
Moth. A great sign, Sir, that he will look fad.

Arm. Why, sadness 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 spoke 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 your

old time, which we may name tough. Arm. Pretty and apt.

Moth. How mean you, Sir, I pretty, and, my saying apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty?

Arm. Thou pretty, because little.
Moth. Little ! pretty, because little; wherefore apt?
Arm. And therefore apt, because quick.
Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master?
Arm. In thy condign praise.
Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise.
Arm. What? that an eel is ingenious.
Moth. That an eel is quick.

Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers. Thou. heat'st

my

blood.
Moth. I am answer’d, Sir.
Arm. I love not to be croit..
Moth. He speaks the clean contrary, crosses love nothim.
Arm. I have promis'd to study three years with the King:
Moth. You may do it in an hour, Sir.
Arm. Impossible.

Moth.

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Moth. How many is one thrice told ?
Aim. I am ill at reckoning, it fits the spirit of a tapster,
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 sure, you know how much the grofs sum of deuce-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. Which the base vulgar call, three.
Arm. True.

Motb. Why, Sir, is this fuch a piece of study ? now here's three studied 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 most fine figure.
Moth. To prove you a cypher.

Arm. I will hereupon confess; I am in love ; and as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the ri.probate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner; and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devis'd court’sy. I think it fcorns to figh; methinks, I should out-fwear Cupid. Comfort me, boy, what great men have been in love ?

Motb Hercules, master.

Arm. Most fweet Hercules! more authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.

Motb. Sampson, matter; 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 Sampson, strong-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 Sampson's love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, mafter.
Arm. Of what complexion ?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four. Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion ?

Moth.

Moth. Of the fea-water green, Sir.
Arm. Is that one of the four complexions ?
Moth. 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 reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit.

Moth. It was fo, Sir, for she bad a green wit.
Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red.

Motb. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mark'd under such colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.
Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue allist me!

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty and pathetical ! Moth. If she 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 same,

Which native she doth owe. A dangerous shime, master, 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 such a ballad some three ages since, but, I think, now 'tis not to be found ; or if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that Imay example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard; she deserves well –

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

Arm. Sing, boy; my spi.it grows heavy in love.
Motb. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.
Árm. I fay, fing
Moth, Forbear, 'till this company is paft.

Enter

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