Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard.
Long. God's blessing on your beard!
Boyet. Good sir, be not offended:
She is an heir of Falconbridge.
Long. Nay, my choler is ended.
She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet. Not unlike, sir; that may be.

[Exit LONGAVILLE.

Biron. What's her name, in the cap?

Boyet. Katharine, by good hap.

Biron. Is she wedded, or no?

Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.

Biron. You are welcome, sir; adieu!
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
[Exit BIRON.
- Ladies unmask.
Mar. That last is Birón, the merrry madcap
lord;

Not a word with him but a jest.

Boyet.

And every jest but a word.

By the heart's still rhetoric, discloséd with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.
Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle "af-
fected."

Prin. Your reason?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviors did make their
retire

To the court of his eye, peeping through desire:
His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
Methought all his senses were locked in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who tendering their own worth, from where they
were glassed,

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at Did point you to buy them, along as you passed.

SCENE I.- Another part of the Park.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

ACT III.

Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three
I will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, 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

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a nothing at all. French brawl?

Arm. How mean'st thou? brawling in French? Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue's, end canary to it with your feet, humor it with turning up your eyelids; sigh a note, and sing a note; sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love; sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love: with your hat, penthouselike, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are complements, these are humors; these betray nice wenches that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of note (do you note, men ?) that most are affected to these.

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience?
Moth. By my penny of observation.

Arm. But O! but 0!

Moth. the hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse?

Arm. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A message well sympathised; a horse to be ambassador for an ass!

Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon
the horse, for he is very slow-gaited: but I go.
Arm. The way is but short; away.
Moth. As swift as lead, sir.
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?
Moth. Minimé, honest master; or rather, mas-
ter, no.

Arm. I say, lead is slow.
Moth.

You are too swift, sir, to say so:
Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun?
Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's

he:

I shoot thee at the swain.

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, By thy favor, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy

and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you

forgot your love?

Arm. Almost I had.

face:

Most rude melancholy, valor gives thee place.
My herald is returned.

Re-enter MOTH and COSTARD.

Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.

Moth. A wonder, master; here's a Costard Then called you for the l envoy.

broken in a shin.

Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy で envoy; begin.

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no ľ envoy; no salve in them at all, sir. O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy; no salve, sir, but a plantain !

Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for で envoy, and the word ' envoy for a salve?

Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not

l'envoy a salve?

Arm. No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain

Cost. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in

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

And he ended the market.

Arm. But tell me; how was there a Costard broken in a shin?

Moth. I will tell you sensibly.

Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth! I will speak that l'envoy.

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.
Arm. We will talk no more of this matter.
Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin.
Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.
Cost. O, marry me to one Frances; - I smell

Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been some l'envoy, some goose, in this.

The fox, the ape, the humble-bee,

Were still at odds being but three:

Arm. Until the goose came out of door,
Staying the odds by adding four.

Moth. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose: would desire more?

you

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person: thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.

Cost. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me loose.

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this:-Bear this significant to the country maid Jaquenetta: there is remuneration [giving him money]; for the best ward of mine honor is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.

[Exit.

Moth. Like the sequel, I.-Signior Costard,

adieu.

in

Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my cony Jew! [Exit MOTH. Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings - remuneration. "What's the price of this

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose: inkle?"-"A penny."-"No, I'll give you a that's flat:

remuneration." Why, it carries it. Remunera

Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be tion! why, it is a fairer name than French crown. fat. I will never buy and sell out of this word.

To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and

loose:

Let me see a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose. Arm. Come hither, come hither: how did this argument begin?

Enter BIRON.

Biron. O, my good knave, Costard! exceedingly well met.

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation riband A very beadle to a humorous sigh;

may a man buy for a remuneration?

Biron. What is a remuneration?

Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny-farthing.

A critic; nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!

Biron. O, why then, three-farthings worth of This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;

silk.

Cost. I thank your worship: God be with you!
Biron. O stay, slave; I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favor, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

Cost. When would you have it done, sir?
Biron. O, this afternoon.

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well.
Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is.
Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first.
Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow
morning.

This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces.
Sole imperator and great general
Of trotting paritors; O my little heart!
And I to be a corporal of his field,
And wear his color's like a tumbler's hoop!
What?-I!-I sue! I seek a wife!

A
woman, that is like a German clock,
Still, a-repairing; ever out of frame;
And never going aright; being a watch,

Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, And being watched that it may still go right! slave, it is but this:

The princess comes to hunt here in the park,

And in her train there is a gentle lady;

Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all;
And, among three, to love the worst of all!
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,

When tongues speak sweetly they then name her With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;