Prin. What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter? What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better? Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the ftyle. Prin. Elle your memory is bad, going o'er it ere while. Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in court, A phantafme, a monarcho, and one that makes sport To the Prince and his book-mates. Prin. Thou, fellow, a word: Who gave thee this letter? Coff. I told you: my Lord. Prin. To whom shouldeft 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 called Rofaline. Prin. Thou haft mistaken his letter. Come, Lords, away. Here, fweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day. [Exit Princefs attended. Boyet. Who is the fhooter? who is the fhooter? Rofa. Shall I teach you to know? Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty, Rofa. Why, the that bears the bow. Finely put off. Boyet. My Lady goes to kill horns: but if thou marry, Hang me by the neck, if horns that year mifcarry. Rofa. Well then, I am the fhooter. Rofa. If we chufe by horns, yourfelf; come not Finely put on, indeed. [near. Mar. You ftill wrangle with her, Boyet, and the ftrikes at the brow. Boyet. But the herself is hit lower. [now? Have I hit her Rofa. Shall I come upon thee with an old faying that was a man when King Pippin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it? Boyet. So I may anfwer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it. Rofa. Thou can't not hit it, hit it, hit it, [Singing. Thou can'ft not hit it, my good man. Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot; An I cannot, another can. [Exit Rofa. Coft. By my troth, most pleasant; how both did fit it! Mar. A mark marvellous well fhot: for they both did hit it. Boyet. A mark? O, mark but that mark! a mark, fays my Lady; Let the mark have a prick in't, to meet at, if it may be. Mar. Wide o' th' bow-hand; i'faith, your hand is out. Coft. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout. Boyet. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in. Coft. Then will fhe get the upfhot by cleaving the pin. Mar. Come, come, you talk greafily; your lips grow foul. Coft. She's too hard for you at pricks, Sir, challenge her to bowl. Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; good night, [Exeunt all but Coltard. my good owl. Coft. By my foul, a fwaing a moft fimple, clown. Lord, Lord! how the Ladics, and I have put him down! O' my troth, moft fweet jefs, moft incony vulgar wit, When it comes fe fmdothly off, fo obicenely, as it were, fo fit. Armado o' th' one fide,-O, a most dainty man; To fee him walk before a Lady, and to bear her fan To fee him kifs his hand, and how moft fweetly he will fwear: And his page o' t' other fide, that handful of witz Ah, heav'ns! it is a molt pathetical nit.. [Exit Coltard. [Shouting within. Enter DULL, HOLOFERNES, and Sir NATHANIEL, Nath. Very reverend fport, truly, and done in the teftimony of a good contcience. Hol. The deer was (as you know) fanguis, in blood; ripe as a pomwater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the car of Cœlo, the sky, the walkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of Terra, the foil, the land, the earth. Nath. Truly, mafter Holofernes, the epithets are fweetly varied, like a fcholar at the leaf: but, Sir, I affure ye, it was a buck of the first head. ر Hol. Sir Nathaniel, baud credo. ! Dull. It was not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket. Hol. Molt barbarous intimation; yet a kind of infinuation, as it were in via, in way of explanation, facere, as it were, replication; or rather, oftentare, to fhow, as it were, his inclination; after his undreffed, unpolished, uneducated, or rather tered, or rathereft unconfirmed fashion, to infert again my haud credo for a deer.. let Dull. I faid, the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. Hol. Twice fod fimplicity, bis coctus; O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed doft thou look? Nath. Sir, he hath never fed on the dainties that are bred in a book. He hath not eat paper as it were; he hath not drunk ink. His intellect is not replenished. He is only an animal, only fenfible in the duller parts; (20) and fuch barren plants are set before us, that we thankful fhould be for thofe parts, (which we tafte and feel, ingradare) that do fructify in us, more than he. For as it would ill become me to be vain, indifcreet, or a fool; So were there a patch fet on learning to see him in a fchool. But omne bene, fay I; being of an old father's mind, Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. Dull. You two are book-men; can you tell by your wit, What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet? Hol. Didynna, good-man Dull; Difłynna, goodman Ďull. Dull. What is Dictynna? Nath. A title to Phabe, to Luna, to the Moon. (20) - And fuch barren plants are fit before us, that we thankful fhould be which we tare, and feeling are for those parts that do frutify in us more than he] if this be not a ftubborn piece of nonfenfe, il never venture to judge of commonfenfe. That editors (hould take fuch paffages upon content, is furely furprifing. The words, 'tis plain, have been ridiculously and stupidly transposed and corrupted. The emendation 1 have offered, I hope, reffores the Author; at least, I am fure, it gives him fenfe and grammar; and answers extremely well to his metaphors taken from planting. Ingra dare, with the Italians, fignifies to rife higher and higher; andare di grado in gradd, to make a progreflion; and fo at length come to fructify, as the Poct expreffes it. Mr Warburton. Hol. The moon was a month old, when Adam was no more.. And rought not to five weeks, when he came to fiveThe allution holds in the exchange. [fcore. Dull. Tis true, indeed; the collufion holds in the exchange. Hol. God comfort thy capacity!, I fay the allu-i fion holds in the exchange, Dull. And I fay, the pollution holds in the ex-* change; for the moon is never but a month old and I fay besides, that 'twas a pricket that the Frincefs killed. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporak epitaph on the death of the deer; and to humour the ignorant, I have called the deer the Princess killed a pricket. Nath. Perge, good mafter Holofernes, perge; fo it fhall pleafe you to abrogate fcurrility. Hol. I will fomething affect the letter;, for it ar gues facility. The praifeful Princefs pierced and prickt Some fay, a fore; but not a fore; Nath. A rare talent ! Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent. |