SCENE II. Re-enter Moth and Coftard.

*

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, fet thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impofe on thee nothing but this:

and Coftard.

bear

Moth. A wonder, Master; here's a Coftard broken in a fhin. Arm. Some enigma, fome riddle; come, thy l'envoy begin. Caft. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no falve in the mail, Sir. O Sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, or falve, Sir, but plantan.

Arm. By virtue, thou enforceft laughter; thy filly thought, my fpleen; 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 fain.

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 fill at odds, being but three.

Moth. Until the goofe came out of door,

And flay'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 pennyworth is good, an' your goofe 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?

Moth. By faying, that a Coftard was broken in a shin.

Then call'd you for a l'envoy.

Coft. True, and I for a plantain ;

Thus came the argument in;

Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goofe that you bought,

And he ended the market.

Arm. But tell me, how was there a Coftard broken in a fhin ?
Moth. I will tell you fenfibly.-

Coft. Thou haft no feeling of it, Moth.

I will fpeak that l'envoy.—

1, Coftard, running out, that was fafely within,

Fell over the threshold, and broke my thin.

Arm. We will talk no more of this matter.

Coft.

bear this fignificant to the country-maid Jaquenetta; there is remuneration; for the best ward of mine honours is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.

[Exit.

Moth. Like the fequel, I. Signior Coftard, adieu! [Exit. Coft. My fweet ounce of man's flesh, my in-cony jewel! Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings! three farthings, remuneration. What's the price of this incle? a penny. No, I'll give you a remuneration: why, it carries it. Remuneration!-why, it is a fairer name than a French crown. I will never buy and fell out of this word.

SCENE III. Enter Biron.

Biron. O my good knave Coftard, exceedingly well

met.

Coft. Pray you, Sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?

Biron. What is a remuneration?

Coft. Marry, Sir, half-penny farthing.

Biron. O, why then three farthings worth of filk.
Coft. I thank your Worship, God be with you.
Biron. O ftay, flave, I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, my good knave,
Do one thing for me that I fhall intreat.
Coft. When would you have it done, Sir?
Biron. O, this afternoon.

Coft. Well, I will do it, Sir: fare you well.
Biron. O. thou knoweft not what it is.
Coft. I fhall know, Sir, when I have done it.
Biron. Why, villain, thou must know firft.

Coft. Till there be more matter in the shin.
Arm. Sirrah, Coftard, I will infranchise thee.

Coft.

Coft. O, marry me to one Frances; I fmell fome l'envoy, fome goofe in this.

Arm. By my fweet foul, I mean, fetting thee at liberty; enfreedoming thy perfon; thou wert immur'd, reftrained, captivated,

bound.

Coft. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me loofe.

Arm. I give, &c.

Coft. I will come to your Worship to-morrow morning. Biron. It must be done this afternoon.

Hark, flave, it is but this:

The Princess comes to hunt here in the park:
And in her train there is a gentle lady;

When tongues fpeak sweetly, then they name her name,
And Rofaline they call her; ask for her,

And to her fweet hand fee thou do commend

This feal'd-up counfel. There's thy gueiden; go.

Coft. Guerdon,----O fweet guerdon! better than remuneration, eleven pence farthing better: moft fweet guerdon! I will do it, Sir, in print. Guerdon, remuneration. [Exit.

Biron. O! and I, forfooth, in love!
I, that have been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous figh:
A critic; nay, a night-watch conftable;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal more magnificent,

This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,
This Signior Junio's giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid,
Regent of love rhymes, lord of folded arms,
Th' anointed fovereign of fighs and groans:
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents:
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces:
Sole imperator, and great general

Of trotting parators: (O my little heart!)
And I to be a corporal of his file,

And wear his colours! like a tumbler, ftoop!
What? I love! I fue! I feek a wife!
A woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a repairing; ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch'd, that it may fill go right!
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is wort of all;
And, among three, to love the worst of all;
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,

With two pitch-balls ftuck in her face for eyes;
Ay, and by Heav'n, one that will do the deed,
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard;
And I to figh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! go to

it is a plague,

That

That Cupid will impofe for my neglect

Of his almighty, dreadful, little, might.

Well, I will love, write, figh, pray, fue, and groan: Some men must love my Lady, and fome Joan. [Exite

ACT IV. SCENE I.

A pavilion in the park near the palace.

Enter the Princefs, Rofaline, Maria, Catharine, Lords, attendants, and a Forefter.

Prin.

WAS that the King that spur'd his horfe

fo hard

Against the fteep uprifing of the hill?

Boyet. I know not; but I think it was not he.
Prin. Whoe'er he was, he fhew'd a mounting mind.
Well, Lords, to-day we fhall have our dispatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.

Then, Forefter, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murderer in?

For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A ftand, where you may make the fairest fhoot *.

the fairest hoot.

Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair, that shoot; And thereupon thou fpeak'it the fairest foot.

For. Pardon me, Madam; for I meant not fo.

Prin. What, what? first praise me, then again say, no? O short liv'd pride! not fair? alack, for wo!

For. Yes, Madam, fair.

Prin. Nay, never paint me now;

Where fair is not, praife cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glafs, take this for telling true;
Fair payment for foal words is more than due.
For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
Prin See, fee, my beauty will be fav'd by merit.
O herefy in fair, fit for thefe days!

A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
But come, the bow; now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I fave my credit in the shoot,
Not wounding. pity would not let me do't:
If wounding, then it was to fhew my skill;

That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill

Boyet

And,

Boyet. Here comes a member of the commonwealth +. Goft. I have a letter from Monfieur Biron, to one Lady Rofaline.

Prin. O thy letter, thy letter: he's a good friend of

Boyet, I am bound to ferve.

-Boyet, you can carve:

This letter is miftook, it importeth none here;

It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin. We will read it, I fwear.

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give car.
Boyet reads.

Br heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous: truth itself, that thou art lovely; more fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself; have commiferation on thy heroical

And, out of queflion, fo it is fometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detefted crimes;

When for fame's fake, for praife, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart.

As I for praise alone now seek to spill

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curs'd wives hold that self-sovereignty
Only for praife-fake, when they strive to be

Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praise; and praise we may afford To any lady that fubdues her lord.

vaffal

Cof. God dig you-den all; pray you, which is the head lady? Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

Coft Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

Prin The thickest and the tallest.

Cost. The thickest and the tallest; it is fo, truth is truth.

An' my waste, mistress, were as flender as your wit,

One o' these maids girdles for my wafte fhould be fit.

Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.
Prin. What's your will, Sir? what's your will!

Coft. I have, &c.

Meaning the letter, as poulet in French fignifies both a chicken

and'a love-letter.