Arm.

Warble Child, make passionate my Sense of hearing.

Moth.

Concolinel.—

Arm.

Sweet Air; go Tenderness of Years; take this Key, give Inlargement to the Swain; bring him festinately hither: I must imploy him in a Letter to my Love.

Moth.

Will you win your Love with a French Braul?

Arm.

How mean'st thou, brauling in French?

Moth.

No my compleat Master, but to Jig off a Tune at the Tongue's End, canary to it with the Feet, humour it with turning up your Eye; sigh a Note and sing a Note, something through the Throat: If you swallow'd Love with Singing, love sometime through the Nose, as if you snuft up Love by smelling Love, with your Hat Penthouse-like o'er the Shop of your Eyes, with your Arms crost on your thinbelly Doublet, (like a Rabbet 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 Humours, these betray nice Wenches that would be betray'd without these, and make them Men of Note: Do you note Men that most are affected to these?

Arm.

How hast thou purchas'd this Experience?

Moth.

By my Pen of Observation.

Arm.

But O, but O.

Moth.

The Hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm.

Call'st thou my Love Hobby-horse.

Moth.

No Master, the Hobby-horse is but a Colt, and your Love perhaps a Hackney:

But have you forgot your Love?

Arm.

Almost I had.

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: 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.

Arm.

Fetch hither the Swain, he must carry me a Letter.

Moth.

A Message well simpathiz'd; a Horse to be Embassador for an Ass.

Arm.

Ha, ha; what say'st thou?

Moth.

Marry Sir, you must send the Ass upon the Horse, for he is very slow gated: 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.

Minime honest Master, or rather Master no.

Arm.

I say Lead is slow.

Moth.
You are too swift Sir, to say so.
Is that Lead slow, Sir, which is fir'd from a Gun?

Arm.
Sweet Smoak of Rhetorick;
He reputes me a Cannon, and the Bullet that's he:
I shoot thee at the Swain.

Moth.
Thump then, and I fly. [Exit.

Arm.
A most accute Juvenal, voluble and free of Grace;
By thy Favour, sweet Welkin, I must sigh in thy Face.
Most rude Melancholly, Valour gives the Place.
My Herald is return'd.

Enter Moth and Costard.

Moth.

A Wonder, Master, here's a Costard broken in a Shin.

Arm.

Some Enigma, some Riddle, no Lenvoy, begin.

Cost.

No Egma, no Riddle, no Lenvoy, no Salve, in the Male, Sir. O Sir, Plantan, a plain Plantan; no Lenvoy, no Lenvoy, or Salve, Sir, but Plantan.

Arm.

By Vertue thou inforcest 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 Lenvoy, and the word Lenvoy for a Salve?

Moth.

Do the Wise think them other, is not Lenvoy a Salve?

Arm.

No Moth, it is an Epilogue or Discourse to make plain Some obscure Precedence that hath tofore been sain.

Now will I begin your Moral, and do you follow with my Lenvoy.

The Fox, the Ape, and the Humble-bee.
  Were still at odds, being but three. Moth.
Until the Goose came out of Door,
  Staying the odds by adding four.

A good Lenvoy, ending in the Goose; would you desire more?

Cost.
The Boy hath sold him a Bargain, a Goose that's flat,
Sir your penny-worth is good, and your Goose be fat.
To sell a Bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose.
Let me see a fat Lenvoy, I that's a fat Goose.

Arm.
Come hither, come hither;
How did this Argument begin?

Moth.
By saying that a Costard was broken in a Shin.
Then call'd you for a Lenvoy.

Cost.
True, and I for a Plantan;
Thus came your Argument in;
Then the Boys fat Lenvoy, 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 Lenvoy.

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 infranchise thee.

Cost.

O, Marry me to one Francis, I smell some Lenvoy, some Goose in this.

Arm.

By my sweet Soul, I mean setting thee at Liberty. Enfreedoming thy Person; thou wert immur'd, 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, for the best ward of mine Honours is rewarding my Dependants. Moth, follow.—

Moth.
Like the Sequel I.
Signior Costard adieu.

Cost.
My sweet Ounce of Man's Flesh, my in-cony Jew:
Now will I look to his Remuneration.

Remuneration, O, that's the Latin Word for three Farthings: Three Farthings Remuneration, What's the Price of this Incle? five Farthings. No, I'll give you a Remuneration: Why? It carries its Remuneration: Why? It is a fairer Name than a French-Crown. I will never buy and sell out of this Word.

Biron.

O my good Knave Costard, exceedingly well met.

Cost.

Pray you Sir, how much Carnation Ribbon may a Man buy for a Remuneration?

Biron.

What is a Remuneration?

Cost.

Marry Sir, half-penny Farthing.

Biron.

O, why then three Farthings worth of Silk.

Cost.

I thank your Worship, God be with you.

Biron.
O stay Slave, I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my Favour, my good Knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall intreat.

Cost.
When would you have it done, Sir?

Biron.
O this Afternoon.

Cost.
Well, I will I 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 it first.

Cost.
I will come to your Worship to Morrow Morning.

Biron.
It must be done this Afternoon.
Hark Slave, it is but this:
The Princess comes to hunt here in the Park:
And in her Train there is a gentle Lady;
When Tongues speak sweetly, then they name her Name,
And Rosaline they call her; ask for her,
And to her white Hand see thou do commend
This seal'd up Counsel. There's thy Guerdon; go.

Cost.

Guerdon, O sweet Guerdon, better than Remuneration, eleven Pence Farthing better: Most sweet Guerdon. I will do it, Sir, in Print: Guerdon, Remuneration.

Biron.
O! and I forsooth in Love,
I that have been Love's Whip;
A very Beadle to a humorous Sigh: A Critick;
Nay, a Night-watch Constable.
A domineering Pedant o'er the Boy,
Than whom no Mortal more magnificent.
This whimpled, whining, purblind wayward Boy,
This Signior Junio's Giant Dwarf, Don Cupid,
Regent of Love-rimes, Lord of folded Arms,
Th' anointed Sovereign of Sighs and Groans:
Liege of all Loyterers, and Malecontents:
Dread Prince of Plackets, King of Codpieces.
Sole Emperator, and great General
Of trotting Parators (O my little Heart!)
And I to be a Corporal of his Field,
And wear his Colours like a Tumbler's Hoop:
What? I love! 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 but a Watch,
But being watch'd, that it may still go right.
Nay to be perjur'd, which is worst of all:
And among three, to love the worst of all,
A whitely Wanton with a Velvet Brow,
With two Pitch Balls stuck in her Face for Eyes,

Ay, and by Heav'n, one that will do the Deed,
Tho' Argus were her Eunuch and her Guard;
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! go too: It is a Plague
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty, dreadful, little Might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan,
Some Men must love my Lady, and some Joan. [Exit.

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