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lity, and golden cadence of poesie, caret: Ovidius Naso was the man. And why, indeed, Nafo ; but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy ? the jerks of invention ? imitari, is nothing : so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the try'd horse his rider : But Damofella Virgin, was this directly to you?

Jaq. Ay, Sir, from one Monsieur Biron, to one of the strange Queen's Ladies.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript. To the snowwhite hand of the most beauteous lady Rosaline. I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto,

Your Ladyship's in all desir'd employment, Biron. This Biron is one of the votaries with the King ; and here he hath fram'd a letter to a sequent of the stranger Queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of progrefsion, hath miscarry’d. Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the hand of the King ; it may concern much; stay not thy complement; I forgive thy duty: adieu.

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life.

Cost. Have with thee, my girl. [Exe. Coft. and Jaq.

Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously : and as a certain father faith

Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable colours. But, to return to the verses ; did they please you, Sir Nathaniel ?

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. Hol. I do dine to day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine; where if (being repast) it shall please you to gratifie the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the aforesaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto ; where will I prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither favouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your society.

Nath. And thank you too: for society .(saith the text) is the happiness of life.

Hol.

Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it. Sir, I do invite you too ; [To Dull.] you fall not say me, nay : Pauca verba. Away, the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation.

[Exeunt, Enter Biron, with a paper in his band, alone. Biron. The King is hunting the deer, I am courfing my self. They have pitcht a toil, I am toiling in a pitch ; pitch, that defiles ; defile! a foul word: well, set thee down, sorrow ; for so they say the fool said, and fo say I, and I the fool. Well prov'd wit. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax, it kills sheep, it kills me, I a sheep. Well prov'd again on my side, I will not love ; if I do, hang me ; i'faith,

will not. O, but her eye : by this light, but for her eye, I would not love ; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love ; and it hath taught me to rhime, and to be melancholy ; and here is part of my rhime, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already ; the clown bore it; the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! by the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper ; God give him grace to groan!

[he siands afide. Enter the King King. Ay me!

Biron. Shot, by heav'n! proceed, sweet Cupid; thou haft thumpt him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap: in faith, secrets. King. [reads.) So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote

The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows; Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright,

Through the transparent bofom of the deep,
At doth thy face through tears of mine give light ;
Thou shin'it in every tear that I do weep;

No

No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will shew; But do not love thy self, then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. o Queen of Queens, how far doft thou excel! No thought can think, no tongue of mortal cell. How shall she know my griefs ? I'll drop the paper ; Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?

[The King feps afide.

Enter Longaville.
What! Longaville ! and reading ! liften, ear.

Biron. Now in thy likeness one more fool appears.
Long. Ay me! I am forsworn.
Biron. Why, he comes in like a Perjure, wearing

papers.
King. In love, I hope ; sweet fellowship in shame.
Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name.
Long. Am I the first, that have been perjur'd so?
Biron. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that

I know ; Thou mak'st the triumviry, the three-corner.cap of

society, The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up fimplicity.

Long. I fear, these stubborn lines · lack power to O sweet Maria, Empress of my love, These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.

Biron. O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose : Disfigure not his flop. (22)

move:

Long.

[22] Oh, Rhymes are Guards on wanton Cupid's Hose; Disfigure not his Shop.] All the Editions happen to concur in this Error ; but what Agreement in Sense is there berwixt Cupid's Hose and his Shop? Or, what Relation can those two Terms have to one another? Or, what, indeed, can be under

ftood

Long. The same shall

go.

[he reads the fonnet. Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye

("Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument) Perswade my heart to this false perjury,

Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment:
A woman I for swore ; but I will prove,

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee,
My vow was earthy, thou a heav'nly love :

Thy grace, being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is ;

Then thou fair fun, which on my earth doft fine,
Exhalost this vapour-vow; in thee it is ;

If broken then, it is no fault of mine ;
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To lose an oath to wiv a Paradise?

Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a

deity; A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend, we are much out o'th' way.

Enter Dumain. Long. By whom shall I send this : company?

stay.
Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play ;
Like a demy-god, here fit I in the sky,
And wretched fools' secrets headfully o'er-eye :
More facks to the mill ! O heav'ns, I have my wish;
Dumain transform'd I four woodcocks in a dish ?

Dum. O molt divine Kate !
Biron. O most prophane coxcomb!

[afide.

stood by Cupid's Shop? It must undoubtedly be corre&ted, as ! have reform'd the Text. Slops are large and wide-kneed Breeches, the Garb in Fashion in our Author's Days, as we may observe from old Family Pi&ures; but they are now worn only by Boors and Sea-faring Men: and we have Dealers whose role Business it is to furnish the Sailors with Shirts, Jackets, &c. who are call’d, Slop-men ; and their Shops, Slopo thops.

Dum.

Dum. By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron. By ealth, she is but corporal; there you lie. (23)

[afide. Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

[afide. Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I say; Her shoulder is with child.

[aside. Dum. As fair as day. Biron. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun must shine.

[afide. Dum. O that I had my wish! Long. And I had mine!

[aside. King. And mine too, good Lord !

[afide. Biron, Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word ?

[afide. Dum. I would forget her, but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.

Biron. A fever in your blood! why then, incision Would let her out in fawcers, sweet misprision. [afide.

Dum. Once more l'll read the ode, that I have writ.
Biron. Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit.

[afide.
Dumain reads his sonnet.
On a day, (alack, the day! )

Love, whose month is ever May, (23) By Earth, we is not, corporal, there you lie.) Dumaine, one of the Lovers in spite of his vow to the contrary, thinking himself alone here, breaks out into fhort Soliloquies of Admiration on his Mistress ; and Biron, who stands behind as an Eves-dropper, takes Pleasure in contradicting his amorous Raptures. But Dumaine was a young Lord: He had no Soic

of Poft in the Army: What Wir, or Allusion, then; can there I be in Biron's calling him corporal ? I dare warrant, I have re

for'd the Poet's true Meaning, which is this. Dumaine calls his Mistress divine, and the Wonder of a mortal Eye ; an i Biron in Aat Terms denies these hyperbolical Praises. I scarce need hint, that our Poet commonly uses corporal, as corporecla VOL. II.

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