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Boyet. And every jeft but a word.

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word.

Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board.

Mar. Two hot fheeps, marry.

Boyet. And wherefore not fhips?

No fheep, (fweet lamb) unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You fheep, and I pafture; shall that finish the jeft?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.
Mar. Not fo, gentle beast;

My lips are no common, though several they be.
Boyet. Belonging to whom?

Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,

agree.

This civil war of wits were much better us'd

On Navarre, and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd. Boyet. If my obfervation, (which very feldom lies) By the heart's ftill rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected. Prin. Your reason?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire To the Court of his eye, peeping thorough defire: His heart, like an agat with your print impressed, Proud with his form, in his eye pride expreffed: His tongue, all impatient to speak and not fee, Did ftumble with hafte in his eye-fight to be: All fenfes to that fenfe did make their repair, To feel only looking on fairest of fair; Methought, all his fenfes were lock'd in his eye, As jewels in cryftal for fome Prince to buy ;

Who tend'ring their own worth, from whence they were glafst,

Did point out to buy them, along as you past.

His face's own margent did quote fuch amazes,
That all eyes faw his eyes inchanted with gazes:
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,

An' you give him for my fake but one loving kifs. Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is difpos'dBayet. But to speak that in words, which his eye hath difclos'd;

I only have made a mouth of his eye.

By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.

Ref. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest fkilfully.

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of

him.

Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?

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W of hearing.

Moth. Concolinel

[Singing Arm. Sweet Air! go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the fwain; bring him feftinately hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Moth. Mafter, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How mean'ft thou, brawling in French?

Moth.

Moth. No, my complete mafter; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; figh a note and fing a note; fometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with finging love; fometimes through the nofe, as if you fnuft up love by fmelling love; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms croft on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbet on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away: * these are 'complishments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without thefe, and make them men of note (do you note me?) that are most affected to these?

Arm. How haft thou purchas'd this experience?
Moth. By my pen of obfervation.

Arm. But O, but O

Moth. The hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm. Call'st thou my love hobby-horse?

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney: but have you forgot your love?

Arm. Almoft I had.

Moth. Negligent ftudent, learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, mafter: all those three I will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live: And this by, in, and out of, upon the inftant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her: in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

thefe are compliments.] We fhould read, 'complishments, i. e. accomplishments.

Moth.

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain, he muft carry me a letter.

Moth. A meffage well fympathiz'd; a horse to be embaffador for an afs.

Arm. Ha, ha; what say'ft thou?

Moth, Marry, Sir, you must send the afs upon the horse, for he is very flow-gaited: but I go. Arm. The way is but fhort; away.

Moth. As fwift as lead, Sir.

A

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?

Is not lead of metal heavy, dull and flow?
Moth. Minimè, honeft mafter; or rather mafter, no.
Arm. I fay, lead is flow.

Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to say so.

Is that lead flow, Sir, which is fir'd from a gun?
Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!!

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:

I fhoot thee at the fwain.d

Moth Thump then, and I fly.

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[Exit.

Arm. A moft acute Juvenile, voluble and free of

grace;

By thy favour, fweet welkin, I must figh in thy face.
Moft rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd,

SCENE II.

Re-enter Moth and Coftard.

Wonder, master, here's a Coftard broken

Moth. A in a thin.
A

Arm. Some enigma, fome riddle; come, thy l'envoy begin.

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Coft. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no falve in the male, Sir. O Sir, plantan, a plain plantan; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, or falve, Sir, but plantan. O

VOL. II.

Arm.

Arm. By vertue, thou enforceft laughter; thy filly thought, my Ipleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous fmiling: O pardon me, my ftars! doth the inconfiderate take falve for l'envoy, and the word l'envoy for a falve?

Moth. Doth the wife think them other? is not l'envoy a falve?

Arm. No, page, it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain.

Some obfcure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were ftill at odds, being but three.
There's the moral, now the l'envoy.

Moth. I will add the l'envoy; fay the moral again. Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were ftill at odds, being but three.

Moth. Until the goofe came out of door,

And stay'd the odds by adding four."

A good l'envoy, ending in the goofe; would you defire more?

Coft. The boy hath fold him a bargain; a goose, that's flat;

Sir, your penny-worth is good, an' your goole be fat. To fell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose. Let me fee a fat l'envoy; I, that's a fat goofe.

Arm. Come hither, come hither ;

How did this argument begin?

Moft. By faying, that a Coftard was broken in a fhin.

Then call'd you for a l'envoy.

Coft. True, and I for a plantan ;

Thus came the argument in;

Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goofe that you bough, And he ended the market.

Arm. But tell me; how was there a Coftard broken in a fhin ?

Moth.

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