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Long. Nay, my choler is ended:
be. [Exit Long. BIRON. What's her name in the
[Exit. Biron Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord.; Not a word with him but a jest.
Boyet. And every jest a word,
Boyet. And wherefore not ships ?
Mar. Not so, gentle beast;
BOYET. Belonging to whom?
Prin. Good wits will be jangling ; but, gentles, agree.
Boyet. If my observation, which very seldom lies, By the heart's still retorick, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected,
PRIN. With what?
BOYET. With that which we lovers entitle affected,
Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos’d.
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakeft skilfully.
ACT III. SCENE I.
The park; near the palace,
WARBLE, child ; make passionate my sense of
hearing. Moth. Concolinel
[Singing. ARM. Sweet air !–Go, tenderness of years ; take this key, give enlargement to the swain ; bring him feftinately hither : I must imploy him in a letter to my love.
Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?
Arm. How mean'ft thou, brawling in French ?
Moth. No, my compleat master; but to jigg off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids ; figh a note and fing a note; sometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love; sometimes through the nose, as if you snufft up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms croft on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbit 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 compliments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without these, and make the men of note : do you note men, that are most affected to these?
Arm. How haft thou purchas'd this experience ?
ARM. Call'st thou my love hobby-horse?
Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and you love, perhaps, a hackney: but have you forgot your love?
ARM. Almost I had.
Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove.
ARM. What wilt thou prove?
Moth. A man, if I live: And this Bý, In, and out of, upon the instant: 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.
Arm. FetçkEhither the swain, he must carry me a letter.
Moth. A message. well fympathis’d; a horse to be embassador for an ass.
Arm. Ha, ha; what say'st thou?
Moth. Marry, Sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very now-gated : but I go,
ARM. The way is but short; away.
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Moth. Minimè, honeft master : or rather, master, no.
Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
ARM. Sweet smoak of rhetorick!
SCENE II. Re-enter Moth and Costard. Moth. A wonder, malter, here's a Costard broken in a
fhin. ARM. Some enigma, fome riddle; comę,--thy l'envoy
begin. Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no falve in the male, Sir. O Sir, plantain; a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, or falve, Sir, but plantain.
Arm. By virtue, thou enforceft laughter; thy filly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling: O pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy, and the word l'envoy for a salve?
Motu. Doth the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a falve? ARM. No, page, it is an epilogue or discourse, to make
plain Some obscure 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 still at odds, being but three,