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lity, and golden cadence of poesie, caret : Ovidius Naso was the man. And why, indeed, Nafo ; but for smeling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy ? the jerks of nvention ? imitari, is nothing : fo doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the try'd horse his rider : But Damosella Virgin, was this directly to you?
Jaq. Ay, Sir, from one Monsieur Biron, to one of the strange Queen's Ladies.
Hl. I will overglance the superscript. To the fuowwhite hand of the most beauteous lady Rosaline. I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written
Your Ladyship's in all desir'd employment, Biron. This Biron is one of the votaries with the King; and here he hath fram'd a letter to a sequent of the stranger Queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of progreflion, hath miscarry'd. Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the hand of the King ; it may concern much ; ftay not thy complement ; I forgive thy duty: adieu.
Jaq. Good Coftard, go with me. Sir, God save your life.
Colt. Have with thee, my girl. [Exe. Cort. and Jaq.
Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously : and as a certain father faith
Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable colours. But, to return to the verses ; did they please you, Sir Nathaniel? Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.
Hol. I do dine to day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine ; where if (being repast) it shall please you to gratifie the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the aforesaid child or pupil
, undertake your ben venuto ; where will I prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither favouring of - poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your society.
Nath. And thank you too: for society (faith' the text) is the happiness of lise.
Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it. Sir, I do invite you too ; [To Dull.] you shall not say me, nay : Pauca verba. Away, the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation.
[Exeunt. Enter Biron, with a paper in his hand, alone. Biron. The King is hunting the deer, I am courfing my self. They have pitcht a toil, I am toiling in a pitch ; pitch, that defiles ; defile! a foul word: well, set thee down, sorrow ; for so they say the fool said, and fo say I, and I the fool. Well prov'd wit. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax, it kills sheep, it kills me, I a sheep. Well prov'd again on my fide. I will not love; if I do, hang me ; i' faith, I will not. O, but her eye : by this light, but for her eye, I would not love ; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love ; and it hath taught me to rhime, and to be melancholy ; and here is part of my rhime, and here my melancholy. Well, the hath one o' my sonnets already ; the clown bore it; the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! by the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper ; God give him grace to groan!
[he fiands afidi. Entir the King King. Ay me!
Biron. Shot, by heav'n! proceed, sweet Cupid; thou haft thumpt him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap: in faith, secrets. King. [reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the role,
The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows; Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright,
Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,
So rideft thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
And they thy glory through my grief will few ; But do not love thy self, then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. O Queen of Queens, how far doft thou excel! No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell. How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper ; Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
[The King peps afide.
Biron. Now in thy likeness one more fool appears.
I know ;
society, The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.
Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to O sweet Maria, Empress of my love, These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
Biron. O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose : Disfigure not his flop. (22)
 Oh, Rhymes are Gwards on wanton Cupid's Hose;Disfigure not his Shop.] All the Editions happen to conçus in this Error ; but what Agreement in Seose is there berwixt cupid's Hose and his Shop? Or, what Relation can those two Terms have to one another? Or, what, indeed, can be under
Long. The same shall go.
[he reads the fonnet. Did not the heavenly
rhetorick of thine eye ('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument) Perswade my heart to this false perjury,
Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment:
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee.
Thy grace, being gain’d, cures all disgrace in me,
Then thou fair fun, which on my earth doft fine,
If broken then, it is no fault of mine ;
To lose an oath to win a Paradise ?
deity ; A green goose a goddess : pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend, we are much out o'th' way.
Enter Dumain. Long. By whom shall I send this ? -company?
Dum. O most divine Kate !
stood by Cupid's Shop? It must undoubredly be corre&ted, as ! have reform'd the Text. Slops are large and wide-kneed Breeches, the Garb in Fashion in our Au:hor's Days, as we may observe from old Family Pictures; but they are now worn only by Boors and Sea-faring Men: and we have Dealers whore fole Business it is to furnish the Sailors with Shirts, Jackets, &c. who are call’d, Slop-mon; and their Shops, Slepshops,
Dum. By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye!
[afide. Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.
[afide. Dum. As upright as the cedar,
Biron. Stoop, I say : Her shoulder is with child.
[afide. Dum. As fair as day. Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must fhine.
[aside. Dum. O that I had my wish ! Long. And I had mine!
[afide. · King. And mine too, good Lord !
[afide. Biron, Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word ?
[aside. Dum. I would forget her, but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.
Biron. A fever in your blood! why then, incision Would let her out in fawcers, sweet misprision. [aside.
Dum. Once more l'll read the ode, that I have writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit.
[aside. Dumain reads his fonnet. On a day, (alack, the day!)
Love, whose month is ever May, (23) By Earth, Me is not, corporal, there you lie.) Dumaine, one of the Lovers in spite of his Vow to the contrary, thinking himself alone here, breaks out into fhort Soliloquies of Admiration on his Mistress ; and Biron, who stands behind as an Eves-dropper, takes Pleasure in contradicting his amorous Raptures. But Dumaine was a young Lord: He had no Sort of Poft in the Army: What Wit, or Allusion, then, can there be in Biron's calling him Corporal ? I dare warrant, I have rcfor'd the Poet's true Meaning, which is this. Dumaine calls his Mistress divine, and the Wonder of a mortal Eye ; and Biron in Alat Terms denies these hyperbolical Praises. I scarca aeed hint, that our Poet commonly uses corporal, as corporeal, VOL. II.