BY Boyet reads. Y Heaven, that thou art Fair, is most infallible; true that thou art Beauteous; Truth it felf that thou art Lovely; more fairer than Fair, beautiful than Beauteous, truer than Truth it felf; have Commiferation on thy heroical Vaffal. The magnanimous and moft illuftrate King Cophetna fet Eye upon the pernicious and indubitate Beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly fay, Veni, vidi, vici; which to Anatomize in the Vulgar, O bafe and obfcure Vulgar; videlicet, he came, faw and overcame; he came one, faw two, overcame three. Who came? the King. Why did he come? to fee. Why did he fee? to overcome. To whom came he? to the Beggar. What faw he? the Beggar. Who overcame him? the Beggar. The Conclufion is Victory; On whofe fide? the King's; the Captive is inrich'd; On whose fide? the Beggar's. The Catastrophe is a Nuptial: On whofe fide? the King's: No, on both in one, or one in both: I am the King, (for fo ftands the Comparifon) thou the Beggar, for fo witneffeth thy Lowlinefs. Shall I command thy Love? I may. Shall I enforce thy Love? I could. Shall I entreat thy Love? I will. What fhalt thou exchange for Rags? Robes; for Tittles? Titles; for thy felf? me. Thus expecting thy Reply, I prophane my Lips on thy Foof, my Eyes on thy Picture, and my Heart on thy every. Part. Thine in the dearest design of Industry, Don Adriana de Armado. Thus doft thou hear the Nemean Lion rõàr And he from Forage will incline to play. But if thou ftrive (poor Soul) what art thou then? Food for his Rage, Repafture for his Den Prin. What Plume of Feather is he that indited this Let ter? What Vane? What Weathercock? Did you ever hear better? Boyer. I am much deceived, but I remember the Stile. Prin. Elfe your Memory is bad, going o'er it e're while.! Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in Court, A Phantafme, a Monarcho, and one that makes Sport VOL. I. E T To the Prince and his Book-mates. Prin. Thou Fellow, a Word. Who gave thee this Letter? Coft. I told you, my Lord. Prin. To whom should'ft thou give it? Prin. From which Lord to which Lady? Coft. From my Lord Berown, a good Mafter of mine, Boyet. Who is the Shooter? who is the Shooter? Boyet. Ay, my Continent of Beauty. unt. [Exeunt. 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 miscarry. Finely put on. Rofa. Well then, I am the Shooter. Boyet. And who is your Deer? Rofa. If we chufe by Horns, your felf; come not near. Finely put on indeed. Mar. You ftill wrangle with her, Boyet, and fhe ftrikes at the Brow. Boyet. But she her felf is hit lower. Have I hit her now? Rofa. Shall I come upon thee with an old Saying, 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 alittle Wench, as touching the hit it. Rofa. Thou can'ft not hit it, hit it, hit it. Thou can'ft not hit it, my good Man. Boyet. I cannot, cannot, cannot. And 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. Boyer. Boyet. A Mark, O mark but that Mark! a Mark, fays my Mar. Wide a'th bow Hand, i'faith your Hand is out. Boyer. And 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, my good Owl. Lord, Lord! how the Ladies and I have put him down. Armado a'th to fide, O a moft dainty Man. To fee him walk before a Lady, and to bear her Fan. And his Page at other fide, that handful of Wit, Sowla, Sowla, Shout within. Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Nathaniel. [Exeunt. Nath. Very reverent Sport truly, and done in the Teftimony of a good Confcience. Hol. The Deer was (as you know) fanguis in Blood, ripe as a Pomwater, who now hangeth like a Jewel in the Ear of Cœlo the Sky, the Welkin, the Heaven, and anon falleth like a Crab on the face of Terra, the Soil, the Land, the Earth. Nath. Truly Mafter Holofernes, the Epithetes are sweetly varied like a Schollar at the leaft: But, Sir, I affure ye, it was a Buck of the first Head. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. Dull, 'Twas not a hand credo, 'twas a Pricket. Hol. Moft barbarous Intimation; yet a kind of Infinuation, as it were in via, in way of Explication facere, as it were Replication, or rather oftentare, to fhow as it were his Inclination after his undreffed, unpolifhed, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or rathereft unconfirmed Fashion, to infert again my haud credo for a Deer. Dull. I faid the Deer was not a haud credo, 'twas a Pricket. Hol. Twice fod Simplicity, bis cactus; O thou Monfter Ignorance, how deformed doeft 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; and fuch barren Plants are fet before us, that we thankful should be; which we tafte, and feeling, are for those Parts that do fructifie 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 School. But omne bene fay I, being of an old Father's Mind, Many can brook the Weather, that love not the Wind. Dull. You too are Book-men; Can you tell by your Wit, what was a Month old at Caius Birth, that's not five Weeks old as yet? Hol. Dictinna Good-man Dull, Dietinna Good-man Dull. Dull. What is Diftinna? Nath. A Title to Phebe, to Luna, to the Moon. Hol The Moon was a Month old when Adam was no more. And wrought not to five Weeks when he came to fivefcore. Dull. Tis true indeed, the Collufion holds in the Exchange. Hol. God comfort thy Capacity, I fay the Allufion holds in the Exchange. Dull. And I fay the Pollufion holds in the Exchange; for the Moon is never but a Month old; and I fay befide that, 'twas a Pricket that the Princess kill'da Hol. Hol. Sit Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal Epitaph on the Death of the Deer, and to humour the Ignorant, I have call'd the Deer the Princess kill'd, a Pricket. Nath. Perge good Mafter Holofernes, Perge, fo it fhall please you to abrogate Scurrility. Hol. I will fomething affect the Letter, for it argues Facility, The praifeful Princefs pierc'd and prickt Nath. A rare Talent. Dull. If a Talent be a Claw, look how he claws him with a Talent. Nath. This is a Gift that I have, fimple, fimple; a foolish extravagant Spirit, full of Forms, Figures, Shapes, Objects, Ideas, Apprehenfions, Motions, Revolutions. These are begot in the Ventricle of Memory, nourish'd in the Womb of Pia mater, and deliver'd upon the mellowing of Occafion; but the Gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. Hol. Sir, I praife the Lord for you, and so may our Parishioners, for their Sons are well tutor'd by you, and their Daugh ters profit very greatly under you; you are a good Member of the Commonwealth. Nath. Me hercule, If their Sons be ingenuous, they fhall want no Inftruction: If their Daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But Vir fapit, qui pauca loquitur, a Soul Feminine faluteth us. Enter Jaquenetta and Coftard. Faq. God give good Morrow, Mafter Parfon, Hol.. Mafter Parfon, quaft Perfon. And if one fhould be pierc'd, which is the one? Ee 3 Coft |