Arm.

Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great spirit grows melancholy?

Moth.

A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.

Arm.

Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp^{7 note}

Moth.

No, no; O lord, sir, no.

Arm.

How can'st thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender juvenal^{8 note}
?

Moth.

By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough signior?

Arm.

Why tough signior? why tough signior?

Moth.

Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal?

Arm.

I spoke it, tender juvenal, 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^{9 note}.

Arm.

Pretty, and apt.

Moth.

How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and my saying 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 praise, master?

Arm.

In thy condign praise.

Moth.

I will praise an eel with the same praise.

Arm.

What? that an eel is ingenious?

Moth.

That an eel is quick.

Arm.

I do say, thou art quick in answers: Thou heat'st my blood.

Moth.

I am answer'd, sir.

Arm.

I love not to be cross'd.

Moth.

He speaks the mere contrary, crosses love not him^{1 note}.

Arm.

I have promised to study three years with the duke.

Moth.

You may do it in an hour, sir.

Arm.

Impossible.

Moth.

How many is one thrice told?

Arm.

I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.

Moth.

You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir.

Arm.

I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete man.

Moth.

Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.

Arm.

It doth amount to one more than two.

Moth.

Which the base vulgar do call, three.

Arm.

True.

Moth.

Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink: and how

easy it is to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing horse will tell you^{2 note}

Arm.

A most fine figure!

Moth.

To prove you a cypher.

Arm.

I will hereupon confess, I am in love: and, as it is base for a soldier to love, so I am in love with a base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take desire prisoner; and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devis'd court'sy. I think scorn to sigh; methinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy; What great men have been in love?

Moth.

Hercules, master.

Arm.

Most sweet Hercules!—More authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.

Moth.

Sampson, master: 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 Sampson! strong-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 Sampson'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 sea-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, surely, affected her for her wit.

Moth.

It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.

Arm.

My love is most immaculate white and red.

Moth.

Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask'd under such colours.

Arm.

Define, define, well-educated infant.

Moth.

My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!

Arm.

Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and pathetical!

Moth.

If she be made of white and red,
  Her faults will ne'er be known;
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
  And fears by pale-white shown:
Then, if she fear, or be to blame,
  By this you shall not know;
For still her cheeks possess the same,
  Which native she doth owe.

A dangerous rhime, master, against the reason of white and red.

Arm.

Is there not a ballad, boy, of ^{3 note}the King and the Beggar?

Moth.

The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since: but, I think, now 'tis not to be found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm.

I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digression^{4 note}

by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard^{5 note}

Moth.

To be whipp'd; and yet a better love than my master.

Arm.

Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.

Moth.

And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.

Arm.

I say, sing.

Moth

Forbear, till this company be past.

Dull.

Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Costard safe: and you must let him take no delight, nor no penance; but a' must fast three days a-week:

For this damsel, I must keep her at the park; she is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well.

Arm.

I do betray myself with blushing.—Maid.

Jaq.

Man.

Arm.

I will visit thee at the lodge.

Jaq.

That's hereby.

Arm.

I know where it is situate.

Jaq.

Lord, how wise you are!

Arm.

I will tell thee wonders.

Jaq.

With that face?

Arm.

I love thee.

Jaq.

So I heard you say.

Arm.

And so farewell.

Jaq.

Fair weather after you!

Dull.

Come, Jaquenetta, away ^{6 note}

Arm.

Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere thou be pardoned.

Cost.

Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach.

Arm.

Thou shalt be heavily punished.

Cost.

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

Arm.

Take away this villain; shut him up.

Moth.

Come, you transgressing slave; away.

Cost.

Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, being loose.

Moth.

No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt to prison.

Cost.

Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall see—

Moth.

What shall some see?

Cost.

Nay, nothing, master Moth, but what they look upon. ^{7 note}

Arm.

I do affect^{8 note}

the very ground, which is base, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, (which is a great argument of falshood) if I love: And how can that be true love, which is falsly attempted? Love is a familiar; love is a devil: there is no evil angel but love. Yet Sampson was so tempted; and he had an excellent strength: yet was Solomon so seduced; and he had a very good wit. Cupid's but-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause will not serve my turn^{9 note}; the passado he respects not, the duello he regards not: his disgrace is to be call'd boy; but his glory is, to subdue men. Adieu, valour! rust, rapier! be still, drum! for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me some extemporal

god of rhime, for, I am sure, I shall turn sonneteer* ^note. Devise wit; write pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.