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King. Yet ftill fhe is the moon, and I the man. (48) The mufick plays,vouchsafe fome motion to it Rofa. Our ears vouchsafe it.
King. But your legs fhould do it.
Rofa. Since you are ftrangers, and come here by chance,
we will not dance.
We'll not be nice; take hands;
Rofa. Your abfence only.
Rofa. Then cannot we be bought; and fo, adieu;
King. I am beft pleas'd with That.
Biron. White-handed mistress, one, fweet word with thee.
Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar, there is three. Biron. Nay then, two treys; and if you grow fo
nice, Methegline, wort, and malmfey; There's half a dozen fweets.
well run, dice:
Pria. Seventh fweet, adieu;
Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.
(45) King. Yet ftill he is the Moon, and I the Man.
This Verse, about the Man in the Moon, I verily believe to be spurious, and an Interpolation: because, in the firft place, the Conceit of it is not purfued; and then it entirely breaks in upon the Chain of the Couplets, and has no Rhyme to it. However, I have not ventur'd to cafheer it. The 2d Verfe is given to Rofaline, but very abfurdly. The King is intended to follicit the Princefs to dance; but the Ladies had beforehand declar'd their Refolutions of not complying. It is evident therefore, that it is the King, who fhould importune Rofaline, whom he mistakes for the Princefs, to dance with him,
Biron. One word in fecret.
Biron. Therefore meet.
Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?
Dum. Fair lady,
Mar. Say you fo? fair lord:
Take that for your fair lady.
Dum. Please it you;
As much in private; and I'll bid adieu.
Cath. What, was your vizor made without a tongue?
Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Cath. O, for your reafon! quickly, Sir; I long. Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my fpeechlefs vizor half.
Cath. Veal, quoth the Dutch man; is not veal a calf?
Long. A calf, fair lady?
Cath. No, I'll not be your half;
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.
Long. Look, how you butt your self in these sharp mocks!
Will you give horns, chafte lady? do not fo.
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen:
Above the sense of sense, so fenfible
Seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings; Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, fwifter
Rofa. Not one word. more, my maids; break off, break off.
Biron. By heaven, all dry beaten with pure fcoff. King. Farewell, mad wenches, you have fimple [Exeunt King and Lords. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. Are these the Breed of wits fo wondred at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puft out.
Rofa. Well-liking wits they have; grofs, grofs; fat, fat.
Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly poor flout: Will they not (think you) hang themselves to night? Or ever, but in vizors, fhew their faces? This pert Biron was out of count'nance quite. Rofa. O! they were all in lamentable cafes. The King was weeping-ripe for a good word. Prin. Biron did fwear himself out of all fuit. Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword: No, point, quoth I; my fervant ftrait was mute.
Cath. Lord Longaville faid, I came o'er his heart; And, trow you, what he call'd me!
Prin. Qualm, perhaps.
Cath. Yes, in good faith.
Prin. Go, fickness as thou art!
Rofa. Well, better wits have worn plain ftatute
But will you hear? the King is my love fworn.
Boyet. They will, they will, God knows;
Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be understood. VOL. II.
Boyet. Fair ladies, maskt, are roles in their bud; (46) Or angel-veiling Clouds: are roses blown, Difmaskt, their damask sweet Commixture fhewn. Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! what shall we do, If they return in their own fhapes to woo?
Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, Let's mock them ftill, as well known, as difguis'd; Let us complain to them what fools were here, Difguis'd, like Muscovites, in shapeless gear, And wonder what they were, and to what end Their fhallow Shows, and Prologue vildly pen'd, And their rough carriage fo ridiculous, Should be prefented at our Tent to us.
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand. Prin. Whip to our Tents, as roes run o'er the land.
SCENE, before the Princess's Pavilion.
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their own babits; Boyet, meeting them.
AIR Sir, God fave you. Where's the Princefs?
Please it your Majesty, command me any service
(46) Fair Ladies maskt are rofes in the bud:
Dismaskt, their damask fweet Commixture shown,
Are Angels wailing Clouds, or rofes blown.]
As thefe Lines ftand in all the Editions, there is not only an Anticlimax with a Vengeance; but fuch a Jumble, that makes the whole, I think, ftark Nonfenfe. I have ventur'd at a Tranfpofition of the 2d and 3d Lines, by the Advice of my Friend Mr. Warburton; and by a minute Change, or two, clear'd up the Senfe, I hope, to the Poet's Intention.
King That the vouchsafe me audience for one word.
(47) This is the Flow's, that fmiles on ev'ry one,-] A flower fmiling, is a very odd Image. I once fufpected, that the Poet might have wrote;
This is the Fleerer, fmiles on ev'ry One.
But nothing is to be alter'd in the Text. The Metaphor is to be justified by our Author's Ufage in other Paffages.
Romeo and Juliet.
Mer. Nay, I am the very Pink of Courtefie.
He is not the Flower of Courtefie; but, I warrant him as gentle as a
But the complex Metaphor, as it ftands in the Paffage before us, will be much better juftified by a fine piece of Criticifm, which my ingenious Friend Mr. Warburton fent me upon this Subject. I'll fubjoin it in his own Words." What the Criticks call the broken, disjointed, and mixt Metaphor are very great Faults in Writing. But then observe this Rule, which, I think, is of general and conftant Use in Writing, "and very neceflary to direct one's Judgment in this part of Style. "That when a Metaphor is grown fo common as to defert, as 'twere, "the figurative, and to be receiv'd into the fimple or common Style, "then what may be affirm'd of the Subftance, may be affirm'd of the "Image, i. e. the Metaphor: For a Metaphor is an Image. To illu M 2