Enter Biron.

Biron. O my good knave Coftard, exceedingly well

met.

Coft. Pray you, Sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?

Biron. What is a remuneration?

Coft. Marry, Sir, half-penny farthing.

Biron. O, why then three farthings worth of filk.
Coft. I thank your worship, God be with you.
Biron. O ftay, flave, I muft employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, my good knave,
Do one thing for me that I fhall intreat.

Coft. When would you have it done, Sir?
Biron. O, this afternoon.

Coft. Well, I will do it, Sir: fare you well.
Biron. O, thou knoweft not what it is.

Coft. I fhall know, Sir, when I have done it.

Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first.

Coft. I will come to your worship to morrow morning.

Biron. It must be done this afternoon.

Hark, flave, it is but this :

The Princess comes to hunt here in the park :
And in her train there is a gentle lady;

When tongues fpeak fweetly, then they name her name,
And Rofaline they call her; ask for her,

And to her fweet hand fee thou do commend

This feal'd up counfel, There's thy guerdon; go. Coft. Guerdon,-O fweet guerdon! better than remuneration, eleven pence farthing better: moft fweet guerdon! I will do it, Sir, in print. Guerdon, remuneration.[Exit.

Biron. O! and I, forfooth, in love!

I, that have been love's whip;

A

Á very beadle to a humorous figh:

Paffage has hitherto been writ, and pointed, without any Regard to Common Senfe, or Meaning. The Reform, that I have made, flight as it is, makes it both intelligible and humourous.

A critick; nay, a night-watch conftable,
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal more magnificent.

This whimpled, whining, purblind wayward boy,
This Signior Junio's giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid, (17)
Regent of love-rimes, lord of folded arms,
Th anointed Soveraign of fighs and groans:
Leige of all loyterers and malecontents:
Dread Prince of plackets, King of codpieces:
Sole Imperator, and great General

Of trotting parators (O my little heart!)
And I to be a corporal of his File, (18)
And wear his colours! like a tumbler, stoop!

What?

(17) This Signior Junio's giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid.] It was fome time ago ingenioufly hinted to me, (and I readily came into the Opinion) that as there was a Contraft of Terms in giant-dwarf, so, probably, there should be in the Words immediately preceding them; and therefore that we should restore,

This Senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid.

i. e. this old, young Man. And there is, indeed, afterwards in this Play, a Defcription of Cupid, which forts very aptly with fuch an Emendation.

That was the way to make his Gedhead wax,
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

The Conjecture is exquifitely well imagin'd, and ought by all Means
to be embrac'd, unless there is Reafon to think, that, in the former
Reading, there is an Allufion to fome Tale, or Character in an old
Play. I have not, on this Account, ventur'd to difturb the Text,
because there feems to me fome Reason to fufpect, that our Author
is here alluding to Beaumont and Fletcher's Bonduca. In that Tragedy
there is the Character of one Junius, a Roman Captain, who falls in
Love to Distraction with one of Bonduca's Daughters; and becomes
an arrant whining Slave to this Paffion. He is afterwards cur'd of his
Infirmity, and is as abfolute a Tyrant against the Sex. Now, with
Regard to thefe two Extremes, Cupid might very properly be filed
Junius's giant-dwarf: a Giant in his Eye, while the Dotage was upon
him; but shrunk into a Dwarf, fo foon as he had got the Better of it.
Our Poet writing the Name with the Italian Termination, and calling
him Signior Junio, would, I think, be an Objection of little Weight
to urge, that the Roman Captain could not therefore be meant.
(18) And I to be a Corporal of his Field,

And wear his Colours like a Tumbler's hoop!]

A Corporal of a Field is quite a new Term: neither did the Tumblers ever adorn their Hoops with Ribbands, that I can learn for Thofe were not carried in Parade about with them, as the Fencer carries his Sword:

Y

What? I love! I fue! I feek a wife!
A Woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a repairing; ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch'd, that it may ftill go right!
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all:
And among three, to love the worst of all;
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,
With two pitch balls ftuck in her face for eyes;
Ay, and by heav'n, one that will do the deed,
Tho' Argus were her eunuch and her guard;
And I to figh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! go to:-It is a plague,
That Cupid will impofe for my neglect
Of his almighty, dreadful, little, Might.
Well, I will love, write, figh, pray, fue and
groan:
Some men muft love my lady, and fome Joan. [Exit,

SCENE, a Pavilion in the Park near the Palace.

Enter the Princefs, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine, Lords, Attendants, and a Forefter.

PRINCESS.

AS that the King, that spur'd his horse so hard

WAS

Against the steep uprifing of the hill?

Sword: Nor, if they were, is the Similitude at all pertinent to the Cafe in hand. But to floop like a Tumbler agrees not only with that Profeffion, and the fervile Condefcenfions of a Lover, but with what follows in the Context. What mifled the wife Tranfcribers at first, seems This: When once the Tumbler appear'd, they thought, his Hoop muft not be far behind. Mr. Warburton.

Boyet.

Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he.
Prin. Who e'er he was, he fhew'd a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to day we fhall have our dispatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.

Then Forester, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murtherer in ?
For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A ftand, where you may make the faireft fhoot.
Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair, that fhoot:
And thereupon thou speak'ft the fairest shoot.
For. Pardon me, madam: for I meant not fo.
Prin. What, what? first praise me, then again
fay, no?

O fhort-liv'd pride! not fair? alack, for wo!

For. Yes, madam, fair.

Prin. Nay, never paint me now;

Where fair is not, praife cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glafs, take this for telling true;
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
For. Nothing but fair is that, which you inherit.
Prin. See, fee, my beauty will be fav'd by merit.
O herefie in fair, fit for thefe days!

A giving hand, though foul, fhall have fair praise.
But come, the bow; now mercy goes to kill,
And fhooting 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 queftion, fo it is fometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detefted crimes;

When for fame's fake, for praife, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart.
As I for praise alone now feek to spill

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curft wives hold that felf-foveraignty
Only for praise-fake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praife; and praise we may afford
To any lady, that fubdues her lord.

Enter

Enter Coftard.

Boyet. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

Coft. God dig-you-den all; pray you, which is the head lady?

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

Coft. Which is the greatest lady, the higheft?
Prin. The thickest and the tallest.

Coft. The thickest and the talleft? it is fo, truth is truth.

An your wafte, mistress, were as flender as my wit, One o' these maids girdles for your wafte should be fit. Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.

Prin. What's your will, Sir? 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.

Break up this capon.

Boyet, you can carve; (19)

Boyet. I am bound to ferve.

This letter is miftook, 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.

(19) Boyet, you can carve;

Break up this Capon.] i. e. open this Letter.

Our Poet uses this Metaphor, as the French do their Poulet; which fignifies both a young Fowl, and a Love-letter. Poulet, amatoriæ Litteræ ; fays Richelet and quotes from Voiture, Répondre au plus obligeant Poulet du Monde; To reply to the moft obliging Letter in the World. The Italians ufe the fame manner of Expreffion, when they call a LoveEpifle, una Pollicetta amorofa. I ow'd the Hint of this equivocal ute of the Word to my ingenious Friend Mr. Bishop. I obferve in Weftwardboe, a Comedy written by a Contemporary with our Author, that one of thefe Letters is likewife call'd a Wild-fowl.

A&t. 2. Sc. 2.

At the Skirt of that Sheet in black Work is wrought his Name. Break not up the Wild-fowl till anon, and then feed upon him in Private.

Boyet