« ПредишнаНапред »
Dear Princess, were not his requests so far
well satisfied to France again.
King. I do protest I never heard of it;
King. Satisfy me so.
Boyet. So please your Grace, the packet is not come
King. It shall suffice me; at which interview,
Prin. Sweet health and fair desires confort your Grace !
[Exit. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.
Rof. I pray you, do my commendations ;
heard it grone *.
grone. Rof. Is the fool Gick? Biron. Sick at the heart.
Dum. Sir, I pray you a word : what lady is that same? Boyet. The heir of Alanson, Rosaline her name. Dun. A gallant lady; Monsieur, fare you well.
[Exit. Long. I beseech you a word : what, is she in white + ? Bojet. She is an heir of Faulconbridge I Long. She is a most sweet lady. Bojet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be l: [Exit. Long.
Pof. Alack, let it blood.
(Exit. Duil. Sir, &c.
he in white?
be. Biron. What's her name in the cap? Buyet. Catharine, by good hap. jsiron. Is Me wedded, or no? Boyet. To her will, Sir, or so. Liron. You are welcome, Sir : adieu ! Boyet. Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you.' (Exit Biron.
NÍar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord;
Boyet. And every jest but a word.
Bovet. And wherefore not thips?
Mar. You sheep, and I paiture ; Mall that finish the jest ?
If my observation, (which very feldom lyes),
fully. Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of
him. Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her fa
ther is but grim.
Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.
Mar. Not so, gentle beast;
Boyet. Belonging to whom?
Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agrce.
Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd
Boyet. But to speak that in words which his eye hath diselos'd ; I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lye. Rof. Thou art, Gr.
Rof. Ay, our way to be gone.
A C T III. SCENE I.
The park, near the palace.
Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. 7 Arble, child; make passionate my sense of
hearing. Noth. Concolinel
[Singing Arni. Sweet air ! go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the fwain; bring him feftinately hither : I must employ him in a letter to my love. Moth. Master, will you
your love with a French brawl ?
Arm. How mean’ıt thou, brawling in French ?
Moth. No, my compleat Master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; figh a note and fing a note; sometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love; sometimes through the nofc, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love, with your hat penthouse-like, o’er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms cross’d on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbet on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a mnan after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip, and away: these are 'complishments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without these, and make them inen of note (do you note me?) that are most affected to these?
Arm. How hast thou purchas'd this experience ?
Moth. No, Maiter; the hobby-horfe is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney : but have you forgot
your love ?
„Arm. Almost I had.
* The burthen of an old song.
Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart.
Arm. What wilt thou prove?
Moth. A man, if I live: and this by, 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.
Moth. And three times as much more ; and yet nothing at all.
Årm. Fetch hither the swain, he must carry me a letter.
Moth. A message well sympathiz'd; a horse to be embassador for an ass.
Arm. Ha, ha; what say'st thou ?
Moth. Marry, Sir, you muft send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gated : but I go.,
Arm, The way is but short; away.
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Moth. Minimè, honest Master; or rather, Master, no.
Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
Arm. Sweet smoak of rhetoric !