Arm. BOY, what fign is it, when a man of great spirit grows melancholy?

Moth. A great fign, Sir, that he will look fad. Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-fame thing, dear imp.

Moth. No, no; O lord, Sir, no.

Arm. How can'ft thou part fadness and melancholy, my tender Juvenile?

Moth. By a familiar demonftration of the working, my tough Signior.

Arm. Why, tough Signior? why, tough Signior? Moth. Why, tender Juvenile? why, tender Juvenile?

Arm. I fpoke it, tender Juvenile, as a congruent epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I tough Signior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. Arm. Pretty and apt.

Moth. How mean you, Sir, I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and my faying pretty?

Arm. Thou pretty, because little.

Moth. Little! pretty, because little; wherefore apt?
Arm. And therefore apt, because quick.

Moth. Speak you this in my praife, mafter?

Arm. In thy condign praife.

Moth. I will praife an eel with the fame praise. : Arm. What? that an eel is ingenious.

Moth. That an eel is quick.

Arm. I do fay, thou art quick in answers. Thou

heat'ft my blood.

Moth.

Moth. I am anfwer'd, Sir.

Arm. I love not to be croft.

Moth. He speaks the clean contrary, croffes love not him.

Arm, I have promis'd to ftudy three years with the King.

Moth. You may do it in an hour, Sir.
Arm. Impoffible.

Moth. How many is one thrice told?

Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fits the spirit of a tapfter.

Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamefter.

Arm. I confefs both; they are both the varnish of a compleat man.

Moth. Then, I am fure, you know how much the grofs fum of deuce-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. Which the bafe vulgar call, three.

Arm. True.

Moth. Why, Sir, is this fuch a piece of study? now here's three ftudied ere you'll thrice wink; and how eafie is it to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing-horse will tell you.

Arm. A moft fine figure.

Moth. To prove you a cypher.

Arm. I will hereupon confefs, I am in love; and, as it is base for a foldier to love, fo I am in love with a base wench. If drawing my fword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take Defire prisoner; and ranfom him to any French courtier for a new devis'd curt'fie. I think it scorn to figh; methinks, I should out-fwear Cupid. Comfort me, boy; what great men

have been in love?

Moth. Hercules, mafter.

Arm. Moft fweet Hercules! More authority, dear

boy,

boy, name more; and, fweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.

Moth. Sampfon, mafter; he was a man of good carriage; great carriage; for he carried the town-gates on his back like a porter, and he was in love.

Arm. O well-knit Sampfon, ftrong-jointed Sampson! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Sampfon's love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, master.

Arm. Of what complexion?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion?
Moth. Of the fea-water green, Sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions?

Moth. As I have read, Sir, and the best of them too. Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampson had small reason for it. He, furely, affected her for her wit. Moth. It was fo, Sir, for fhe had a green wit,

Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Moft maculate thoughts, Master, are mask'd under fuch colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.

Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, affift me!

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty and pathetical!

Moth. If the be made of white and red,

Her faults will ne'er be known;

For blufhing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale-white fhown;

Then if the fear, or be to blame,
By this you fhall not know;
For still her cheeks poffefs the fame,
Which native the doth owe.

A

A dangerous rhime, mafter, against the reafon of white and red.

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?

Moth." The world was guilty of fuch a ballad "fome three ages fince, but, I think, now 'tis not "to be found;," or if it were, it would neither ferve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have that fubject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digreffion by fome mighty prefident. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Coftard; the deferves well

Moth. To be whipp'd; and yet a better love than my mafter deferves.

Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel loving a light wench. Arm. I fay, fing.

Moth. Forbear, 'till this company is past.

Enter Coftard, Dull, Jaquenetta a Maid.

Dull. Sir, the King's pleasure is, that you keep Coftard fafe, and you must let him take no delight, nor no penance; but he muft faft three days a week. For this damfel, I must keep her at the park, fhe is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well.

Arm. I do betray my self with blushing: maid, Jaq. Man,

Arm. I will vifit thee at the lodge.

Jaq. That's here by.

Arm. I know, where it is fituate.

Jaq. Lord, how wife you are!
Arm. I will tell thee wonders.

5 deferves.] added, rightly, by the Oxford Editor.

Jaq.

Jaq. With that face?

Arm. I love thee.

Faq. So I heard you say.

Arm. And fo farewel.

Faq. Fair weather after you!

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.

[Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta.

Arm. Villain, thou fhalt faft for thy offence, ere thou be pardoned.

Coft. Well, Sir, I hope, when I do it, I fhall do it on a full ftomach.

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punish'd.

Coft. I am more bound to you, than your followers; for they are but lightly rewarded.

Arm. Take away this villain, fhut him

up. Moth. Come, you tranfgreffing flave, away. Coft. Let me not be pent up, Sir; I will faft, being loose.

Moth. No, Sir, that were faft and loose; thou fhalt to prison.

Coft. Well, if ever I do fee the merry days of defolation that I have seen, fome fhall fee

Moth. What shall fome fee?

Coft. Nay, nothing, mafter Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prifoners to be filent in their words, and therefore I will fay nothing; I thank God, I have as little patience as another man, and therefore I can be quiet. [Exeunt Moth and Costard.

Arm. I do affect the very ground (which is bafe) where her fhoe (which is bafer) guided by her foot (which is baseft) doth tread. I fhall be forfworn, which is a great argument of falfhood, if I love. And how can that be true love, which is falfly attempted? love is a familiar, love is a devil; there is no evil angel but love, yet Sampson was fo tempted, and he had an excellent ftrength; yet was Solomon fo feduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid's but

fhaft