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Caius. By gar, me tank you vor dat: by gar, I love you ; and I shall procure 'a you de good guest; de Earl, de Knight, de Lord», de Gentlemen, my patients.

Hoft. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne Page : said I well ?

Caius. By gar, 'tis good ; vell said. · Hoft. Let us wag then. Caius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby.



Frogmore, near Windsor.
Enter Evans and Simple.

T Pray you now, good master Slender's servingman,

and friend Simple by your name, which way have - you look'd for master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of Physick ?

Simp. Marry, Sir, the Pitty-wary, the Park-ward, every way, old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.

Eva. Í most fehemently desire you, you will also look that way.

Simp. I will, Sir. "

Eva. 'Pless my soul, how full of chollars I am, and trempling of mind! I shall be glad, if he have deceiv'd me; how melanchollies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's coitard, when I have good opportunities for the orke: 'Pless my soul!

[Sings, being afraid.

* By shallow rivers, to whose falls

Melodious birds sing madrigalls ; ! . There will we make our peds of roses ; .

And a thousand vragrant pofies. By Mallow - 'Mercy on me! I have a great difpofitions to cry. Melodious birds sing madrigalls Wbex as I sat in Pabilon ; — and a thousand vragrant pofies. By shallow, &c.

Simp. I By Mallow rivers, &c.] This is part of a beautiful little poem of the author's, which poem, and the answer to it, the reader will not be displeased to find here.

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love,

Live with me, and be my Love,
And we will all the Pleasure prove,
That Hills and Vallies, Dale and Field,
And all the craggy Mountains yield.
There will we sit opon the Rocks,
And see the Shepherds seed their Flocks,
By shallow Rivers, by whose Falls
Melodious Birds sing Madrigales.
There will I make thee Beds of Roses,
With a thousand fragrant Pofies ; -
A Cap of Flowers, and a Girdle
Imbroider'd all with leaves of Myrtle ;
A Gown made of the finest Wool,
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined Slippers for the cold,
With Buckles of the purest Gold;
A Belt of Straw, and Ivie Buds,
With Coral Clasps, and Amber Studs.
And if these Pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me, and be my Lovę.
The Shepherds Swains shall dance and fing,
For thy Delight each May Morning.
If there Delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my Love.

Simp. Yonder he is coming, this way, Sir Hugh.

Eva. He's welcome. By allow rivers, to whose falls Heav'n prosper the right! what weapons is he?

Simp. No weapons, Sir ; there comes my master, Mr. Shallow, and another gentleman from Frogmore, over the stile, this way.

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown, or else keep it in your arms.

The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd.

If that the World and Love were young,
And Truth in every Shepherd's Tongue ;
These pretty Pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy Love.
Time drives the Flocks from Field to Fold,
When Rivers rage, and Rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of Cares to come :
The Flowers do fade, and wanton Fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields.
A honey Tongue, a Heart of Gall,
Is Fancy's Spring, but Sorrow's Fall.
Thy Gowns, thy Shoes, thy Bed of Roses,
Thy Cap, thy Girdle, and thy Posies :
Some break, some wither, some forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.
Thy Belt of Straw and Ivie Buds,
Thy Coral Clasps and Amber Studs,
All these in me no means can move,
To come to thee, and be thy Love.
But could Youth laft, and Love fill breed,
Had Joys no date, and Age no need ;
Then these Delights my Mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy Love.

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is Ć E N E II.

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. Shal. How now, master Parfon? good morrow, good Sir Hugb. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student from his book, and it is wonderful. - Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page!

Page. Save you, good Sir Hugh.
Eva. 'Pless you from his mercy-fake, all of you.

Shal. What? the sword and the word ? do you study them both, Mr. Parson?

Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw-rheumatick day?

Eva. There is reasons and causes for it.

Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, Mr. Parson.

Eva. Ferry well: what is it?

Page. Yonder is à most reverend gentleman, who, belike, having receiv'd wrong by fone person, is at most odds with his own gravity and patience, that ever you saw.

Shal. I have liv'd fourscore years, and upward ; I never heard a man of his place, gravity and learning, fo wide of his own respect.

Eva. What is he?

Page. I think, you know him ; Mr. Doctor Caius, the renowned French physician.

Eva. Gor's will, and his passion of my heart! I had as lief you should tell me of a mess of porridge.

Page. Why?

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen ; and he is a knave besides ; a cowardly knave as you would desire to be acquainted withal.

Page. I warrant you, he's the man should fight him, Slen. O, fweet Anne Page!



Enter Hoft, Caius, and Rugby. Shal. It appears so, by his weapons : keep them afunder : here comes Doctor Caius.

Page. Nay, good Mr. Parson, keep in your weapon. - Sbal. So do you, good Mr. Doctor.

Host. Disarm them, and let them question ; let them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English,

Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear : wherefore vill you not meet-a me?

Eva. Pray you, use your patience in good time.

Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape,

Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stocks to other mens humours: I desire you in friendship, and will one way or other make you amends; I will knog your urinal about your knave's cogs-comb à for milsing your meetings and appointments.

Caius. Diable? Jack Rugby, mine Hoft de Fartere, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have I not, at de place I did appoint ?

Eva. As I am a christian's foul, how look you, this is the place appointed ; I'll be judgment by mine Host of the Garter.

Host. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welch, soul-curer and body-cuter. · Caius. Ay, dat is very good, excellent.

Hoft. Peace, I lay; hear mine Host of the Garter. Am I politick? ani I subtle ? am I a Machiavel? fhall I lose my Doctor ? no; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I lofe my Parfon ? my Priest? my Sir Hugh ? no; he gives me the proverbs and the nò verb3. Give me thy hand, terrestrial; fo :

2 These words are added from the first edition.

Mr. Pope.

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