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Scene II.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Is in one mile: if they have measur'd many,
The measure then of one is easily told.

Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles,
And many miles; the princess bids you tell,
How many inches do fill up one mile.

Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.
Boyet. She hears herself.
How many weary steps,
Ros.
Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile?

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you;
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,

That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
That we, like savages, may worship it.

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do!
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd,) upon our wat'ry eyne.

Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one change:

soon.

Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. Ros. Play, music, then: nay, you must do it [Music plays. Not yet;-no dance:-thus change I like the moon. King. Will you not dance? How come you thus estrang'd?

Ros. You took the moon at full; but now she's
chang'd.

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.
Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it.
But your legs should do it.
King,
Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by
chance,

We'll not be nice: take hands ;-we will not dance.
King. Why take we hands then?

Only to part friends:-
Ros.
Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.
King. More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Ros. We can afford no more at such a price.
King. Prize you yourselves; What buys your
company?

Ros. Your absence only.
That can never be.
King.
Ros. Then cannot we be bought and so adieu;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you!

:

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
Ros. In private then.
King.
I am best pleas'd with that.
[They converse apart.
Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word
with thee.

Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is
three.

Biron. Nay then, two treys (an if you grow so
nice,)

Metheglin, wort, and malmsey;-Well run, dice!
There's half a dozen sweets.

Seventh sweet, adieu!
Prin.
Since you can cog,! I'll play no more with you.
Biron. One word in secret.
Prin.

Let it not be sweet.
Biron. Thou griev'st my gall.
Prin.
Biron.

Gall? bitter.
Therefore meet.
[They converse apart.
Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a
word?

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Mar. Name it.

Dum.

Mar.

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Take that for your fair lady.
Dum.

[They converse apart.
Kath. What, was your visor made without a

As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

tongue ?

Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
Kath. O, for your reason? quickly, sir; I long.
Long. You have a double tongue within your
mask,

And would afford my speechless visor half.
Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman ;-Is not veal
a calf?

Long. A calf, fair lady?
Kath.
Long. Let's part the word.
Kath.

No, a fair lord calf.

No, I'll not be your half:
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.
sharp mocks!
Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these

Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.
Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Long. One word in private with you, ere I die.
Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you
[They converse apart.

cry.

Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as
keen

As is the razor's edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen;

Above the sense of sense: so sensible
Seemeth their conference; their conceits have
wings,

things. Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter

Ros. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.

Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.

[Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, music, and attendants. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.-Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.

Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross
fat, fat.

Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!
Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?
Or ever, but in visors, show their faces?
This pert Bírón was out of countenance quite.
Ros. O they were all in lamentable cases!
Prin. Birón did swear himself out of all suit.
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword!
No point, quoth I: my servant straight was mute.
Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
And trow you, what he call'd me?
Prin.

Kath. Yes, in good faith.
Prin.

Qualm, perhaps.

Go, sickness as thou art! Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute caps.3

But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.
Prin. And quick Birón hath plighted faith to me.
Kath. And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here

(3) Better wits may be found among citizens.

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Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud: Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels veiling clouds, or roses blown.

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do, If they return in their own shapes to woo?

Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd: Let us complain to them what fools were here, Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless? gear; And wonder what they were; and to what end Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd, And their rough carriage so ridiculous, Should be presented at our tent to us.

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand.

Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. [Exeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria.

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their proper habits.

King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is the princess?

Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty, Command me any service to her thither? King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. [Exit. Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas;

And utters it again when God doth please:
He is wit's pedlar; and retails his wares
At wakes, and wassels, meetings, markets, fairs;
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve:
He can carve too, and lisp: Why, this is he,
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
That when he plays at tables, chides the dice,
In honourable terms! nay, he can sing
A mean most meanly; and, in ushering,
Mend him who can: the ladies call him, sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet:
This is the flower that smiles on every one,
To show his teeth as white as whale's bone:$
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.

King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,

That put Armado's page out of his part!
Enter the Princess, usher'd by Boyet; Rosaline,
Maria, Katharine, and attendants.

Biron. See where it comes!-Behaviour, what wert thou,

Till this man show'd thee? and what art thou now? King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!

Prin. Fair, in all hail, is fout, as I conceive.

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King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. King. We came to visit you; and purpose now To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it then. Prin. This field shall hold me; and so hold your

VOW:

Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men. King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ;

The virtue of your eye must break my oath. Prin. You nick-name virtue: vice you should have spoke;

For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure As the unsullied lily, I protest,

A world of torments though I should endure,

I would not yield to be your house's guest; So much I hate a breaking cause to be Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. Prin. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear. We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game; A mess of Russians left us but of late. King. How, madam? Russians?

Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord; Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. Ros. Madam, speak true :-It is not so, my lord; My lady (to the manner of the days,) In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. We four, indeed, confronted here with four In Russian habit: here they stayed an hour, And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, They did not bless us with one happy word. I dare not call them fools; but this I think, When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. Biron. This jest is dry to me-Fair, gentle

sweet,

Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light: Your capacity
Is of that nature, that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my

eye,

Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty.
Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess.
Ros. All the fool mine?

Biron.
I cannot give you less.
Ros. Which of the visors was it, that you wore?
Biron. Where? when? what visor? why de-

mand you this?

Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous case, That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. King. We are descried: they'll mock us now

downright.

Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your highness sad?

Ros. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale?Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.

Can any face of brass hold longer out ?— Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me;

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance; Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;

(5) The tooth of the horse-whale.
(6) After the fashion of the times.

And I will wish thee never more to dance,

Nor never more in Russian habit wait. O! never will I trust to speeches penn'd,

Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue; Nor never come in visor to my friend;1

Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song: Taffata phrases, silken terms precise,

Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical; these summer-flies

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation: I do forswear them: and I here protest,

By this white glove, (how white the hand, God
knows!)

Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench,-So God help me, la !—
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Ros. Sans sans, I pray you.
Biron.
Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage:-bear with me, I am sick;
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see;-
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lies;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are visited; you are not free,
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.

Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens

to us.

Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.
Ros. It is not so; For how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?
Biron. Peace; for I will not have to do with you.
Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an
end.

King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude
transgression

Some fair excuse.

Prin.

The fairest is confession. Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd? King. Madam, I was.

Prin.

And were you well advis'd?
King. I was, fair madam.
Prin.

When you then were here,
What did you whisper in your lady's ear?

King. That more than all the world I did respect

her.

Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will re-
ject her.

King. Upon mine honour, no.
Prin.
Peace, peace, forbear;
Your oath once broke, you force2 not to forswear.
King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.
Prin. I will; and therefore keep it :-Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

Ros. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear
As precious eye-sight; and did value me
Above this world: adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.

King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my
troth,

I never swore this lady such an oath.

Ros. By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain, You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.

King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give; I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; And lord Birón, I thank him, is my dear :What; will you have me, or your pearl again? Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain,

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I see the trick on't ;-Here was a consent?
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment,)
To dash it like a Christmas comedy:

Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight
zany,4

Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some
Dick,-

That smiles his cheek in years; and knows the trick
To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd,-
Told our intents before: Which once disclos'd,
The ladies did change favours; and then we,
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn; in will, and error.
Much upon this it is:-And might not you,

[To Boyet.

Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our page out: Go, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden sword.

Boyet.

Full merrily
Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have
done.

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hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,—
Biron.

Is not nine. Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for

nine.

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir.

Biron. How much is it?

Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man,-e'en one poor man; Pompion the great, sir.

Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?

Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of Pompion the great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of the worthy: but I am to stand for him. Biron. Go, bid them prepare.

some care.

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take [Exit Costard. King. Birón, they will shame us, let them not approach.

Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord: and 'tis some policy

To have one show worse than the king's and his

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Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.

That sport best pleases, that doth least know how: My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander.
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth;
When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [Armado converses with the King, and delivers him a paper.

Prin. Doth this man serve God?
Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making.

Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender-smelling knight.

Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander ;—

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.

Biron. Pompey the great,

Cost.

Your servant, and Costárd. Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown monarch: for, I protest, the school-master is ex-Alisander the conqueror? You will be scraped out ceeding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal A-jax, he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, couplement ! [Exit Armado. and afeard to speak! run away for shame, AlisanKing. Here is like to be a good presence of wor- der. [Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you; thies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas in sooth; and a very good bowler: but, for AlisanMachabæus. der, alas, you see, how 'tis ;-a little o'erparted:But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

And if these four worthies in their first show thrive,
These four will change habits, and present the

other five.

Biron. There is five in the first show.
King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.
Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-
priest, the fool, and the boy :-

Abate a throw at novum; and the whole world
again,

Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his vein.
King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes

amain.

[Seats brought for the King, Princess, &c. Pageant of the Nine Worthies. Enter Costard arm'd, for Pompey.

Cost. I Pompey am,
Boyet.

Cost. I Pompey am,
Boyet.

You lie, you are not he.

With libbard's head on knee. Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,-
Dum. The great.

Cost. It is great, sir;-Pompey surnam'd the
great;

That oft in field, with large and shield, did make my foe to sweat:

And, travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance;

And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.

If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, 1 had done.

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cost. "Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect: I made a little fault in, great.

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best worthy.

Enter Nathaniel arm'd, for Alexander. Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander;

By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might:

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Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter Holofernes arm'd, for Judas, and Moth
Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp
arm'd, for Hercules.
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed

canus ;

And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,

Quoniam, he seemeth in minority,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus:

Keep some state in thy erit, and vanish. [Ex. Moth.
Ergo, I come with this apology.-
Hol. Judas I am,-

Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.-
Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus.

Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas.
Biron. A kissing traitor :-How art thou prov'd
Judas?

Hol. Judas I am,—

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.
Hol. What mean you, sir?

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.
Hol. Begin, sir; you are my elder.

Biron. Well follow'd: Judas was hang'd on

an elder.

Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.
Biron. Because thou hast no face.
Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern head.

Dum. The head of a bodkin.
Biron. A death's face in a ring.

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce

seen.

Boyet. The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion.
Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.3
Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.*
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

And now, forward; for we have put thee in coun-
Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer:

tenance.

Hol. You have put me out of countenance.
Biron. False; we have given thee faces.

(4) An ornamental buckle for fastening hatbands, &r.

Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all.
Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.
Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?
Dum. For the latter end of his name.

Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him :-
Jud-as, away.

Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas: it grows
dark, he may stumble.

Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been

baited!

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Long.

That mint.

That columbine. Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.

Pompey! Pompey the huge!

Dum. Hector trembles.
Biron. Pompey is mov'd:-More Ates, more
Ates; stir them on! stir them on!

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee.

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword :-I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Cost. I'll do it in my shirt.

Dum. Most resolute Pompey!

lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hote the combat? What mean you? you will lose your reputation.

Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me: I will not combat in my shirt.

Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.

I

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Biron. What reason have you for't?

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt;
go woolward for penance.

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome
for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he
wore none, but a dish-clout of Jacquenetta's; and
that 'a wears next his heart, for a favour.
Enter Mercade.

Mer. God save you, madam!
Prin. Welcome, Mercade;

But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your fatherPrin. Dead, for my life.

Mer. Even so; my tale is told.

Biron. Worthics, away; the scene begins to cloud.

Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath; I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; King. How fares your majesty ? sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. when he breath'd, he was a man-But I will for-King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay. ward with my device: Sweet royalty, [to the Prin- Prin. Prepare, I say.-I thank you, gracious cess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing. lords,

[Biron whispers Costard. For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much de-Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe lighted.

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.

Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide,
The liberal' opposition of our spirits:
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,-Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord! Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue : gone; she is two months on her way.

the

Arm. What meanest thou?

Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, King. The extreme parts of time extremely form poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the All causes to the purpose of his speed; And often, at his very loose, decides

child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among poten-That which long process could not arbitrate: And though the mourning brow of progeny

tates? thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jacque-Forbid the smiling courtesy of love, netta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pom-The holy suit which fain it would convince; pey that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it

From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost,

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great, Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,

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(3) A clown. (4) Clothed in wool, without linen. (5) Free to excess.

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