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King. Yet ftill she is the moon, and I the man. (45) The musick plays,vouchsafe some motion to it

Rofa. Our ears vouchsafe it.
King. But your legs should do it.
Roja. Since you are strangers, and come here by

chance, We'll not be nice; take hands; — we will not dance.

King. Why take you hands then!

Rosa. Only to part friends;
Curt’sie, sweet hearts, and so the measure ends.

King. More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Rosa. We can afford no more at such a price.
King, Prize your selves then; what buys your com-

Rósa. Your absence only.
King. Thật can never be.

Roja. Then cannot we be bought; and so, adieu ; Twice to your visor, and half once to you.

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat,
Rofa. In private then.
King. I am best pleas'd with That.
Biron. White-handed mistress, one, sweet word with

thee. Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar, there is three. Biron. Nay then, two treys; and if you grow so

nice, Methegline, wort, and malmsey; - well


dice: There's half a dozen sweets.

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu ;
Since you can cog, I?ll play no more with you.
(45) King. Yet still fe is the Moon, and I the Man.
Rola. The Mufick plays, vouchfaje fome Motion to it;

Our Ears vouchfafę it.] This Verse, about the Man in the Moon, I verily believe to be spurious, and an Interpolation : because, in the first place, the Conceit of it is not pursued; and then it entirely breaks in upon the Chain of the Couplets, and has no Rhyme to it. However, I have not ventur'd ta casheer it. The 2d Verse is given to Rosaline, but very absurdly. The King is intended to sollicit the Princess to dance ; but the Ladies had beforehand declar'd their Resolutions of not complying. It is evident therefore, that it is the King, who should impergune Rosaline, whom be mistakes for the Princess, to dance with him,


Biron. One word in secret.
Prin. Let it not be sweet.
Biron. Thou griev'st my gall.
Prin. Gall? bitter.
Biron. Therefore meet.
Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?
Mar. Name it.
Dum. Fair lady,

Mar. Say you so? fair lord :
Take that for your fair lady.

Dum. Please it you ; As much in private; and I'll bid adieu. Cath. What, was your vizor made without a

tongue ? Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Cath. O, for your reason! quickly, Sir ; I long.

Long. You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless vizor half.
Cath. Veal, quoth the Dutch man; 'is not veal a

Long. A calf, fair lady?
Cath. No, a fair lord-calf.
Long. Let's part the word.

Cath. No, I'll not be your half;
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.
Long. Look, how you butt your self in these sharp

Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

Cath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Long. One word in private with you, ere I die.
Cath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry.
Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen

As is the razor's edge, invincible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen:

Above the sense of sense, so sensible
Seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings;
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter

Rosa. Not one word, more, my maids; break off,
break off.

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Biron. By heaven, all dry beaten with pure scoff

. — King. Farewell, mad wenches, you have simple wits.

[Exeunt King and Lords.
Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Are these the Breed of wits so wondred at ?
Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths

puft out.
Rosa. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat,

fat. Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly poor flout: Will they not (think you) hang themselves to night?

Or ever, but in vizors, Thew their faces? This pert Biron was out of count’nance quite.

Rofa. O! they were all in lamentable cases. The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword: No, point, quoth I; my servant strait was mute.

Cath. Lotd Longaville faid, I came o'er his heart;
And, trow you, what he callid me!

Prin. Qualm, perhaps.
Cath. Yes, in good faith.
Prin. Go, fickness as thou art!
Rosa. Well, better wits have worn plain ftatute

But will you hear? the King is my love sworn.

Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Cath. And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.

Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give car:
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digeft this harsh indignity.

Prin. Will they return?

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows;
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
Therefore change Favours, and when they repair,
Blow like sweet rofes in this summer air.
Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be under-




Boyet. Fair ladies, maskt, are roses in their bud; (46)
Or angel-veiling Clouds : are roses blown,
Dismaskt, their

damask (weet Commixture shewn.
Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! what shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo?

Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd ;
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd, like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their Shallow Shows, and Prologue vildly pen'd,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our Tent to us.

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand.
Prin. Whip to our Tents, as roes run o'er the land.


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SCENĘ, before the Princess's Pavilion.

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in
their own babits ; Boyet, meeting them.

AIR Sir, God save you. Where's the Princess?

Boyet. Gone to her Tent.
Please it your Majesty, command me any service

to her?


(46) Fair Ladies maskt are roses in the bud:

Dismaskt, their damask sweet Commixture shown,

Are Angels wailing Clouds, or roses blown.] As thefe Lines itand in all the Editions, there is not only an Anticlimax with a Vengeance; but fuch a Jumble, that makes the whole, I think, fark Nonsense. I have ventur'd at a Transposition of the 2d and 3d Lines, by the Advice of my Friend Mr. Warburton ; and by a minute Change, or two, clear'd up the Sense, I hope, to the Poet's Intention.

King That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. Boyet. I will; and so will fhc, I know, my lord. [Exit.

Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas ; And utters it again, when Fove doth plcase : He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares At wakes and wassals, meetings, markets, fairs : And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, Have not the grace to grace it with such show. This Gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve ; Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. He can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he, That kift away his hand in courtele; This is the ape of form, Monsieur the nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms: nay, he can sing A mean most mainly; and, in ulhering, Mend him who can; the ladies call him sweet ; The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet. This is the flower, that smiles on cvery one, (47) To show his teeth, as white as whale his bone.


(47) This is the Flow'r, that smiles on ev'ry one, -] A flower smiling, is a very odd Image. I once fufpected, that the Poet might have wrote;

This is the Fleerer, smiles on ev'ry One. But nothing is to be alter'd in the Text. The Metaphor is to be juftified by our Author's Ulage in other Passages.

Romeo and Juliet.
Mer. Nay, I am the very Pink of Courtefie.

Rom. Pink for Flower.
And again ;

He is not the Flower of Courtefie; but, I warrant him as gentle as a Lamb. But the complex Metaphor, as it stands in the Passage before us, will be much better juftified by a fine piece of Criticism, which my ingenious Friend Mr. Warburton sent me upon this Subject. I'll subjoin it in his own Words. “ What the Criticks call the broken, disjointed, and mixt

Metaphor are very great Faults in Writing. But then observe this “ Rule, which, I think, is of general and constant Use in Writing, “ and very necessary to direct one's Judgment in this part of Style. " That when a Metaphor is grown fo common as to desert, as 'twere, " the figurative, and to be receiv'd into the fimple or common Style, “ then what may be affirm'd of the Substance, may be affirm'd of the " Image, i. c. the Metaphor : For a Métaphor is an Image. To illu


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