Princess.
Was that the King that spur'd his horse so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?

Boyet.
I know not, but I think it was not he.

Prin.
Who e'er he was, he shew'd a mounting mind.
Well lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch,
On Saturday we will return to France.
Then Forester, my friend, where is the bush
That we must stand and play the murtherer in?

For.
Hereby upon the edge of yonder coppice,
A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.* ^note

Enter Costard.

Boyet.
Here comes a member of the common-wealth.* ^note

Cost.
I have a letter from Monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline.

Prin.
O thy letter, thy letter: he's a good friend of mine.
Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve,
Break up this capon.

Boyet.
I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin.
We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

Boyet reads.

By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true that thou art beauteous; truth it self that thou art lovely; more

fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth it self; have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The magnanimous and most illustrate King Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize in the vulgar, (O base and obscure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, saw and overcame; he came one, saw two, overcame three. Who came? the King. Why did he come? to see. Why did he see? to overcome. To whom came he? to the beggar. What saw he? the beggar. Who overcame he? the beggar. The conclusion is victory; on whose side? the King's; the captive is inrich'd: on whose side? the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose side? the King's? no, on both in one, or one in both: I am the King, (for so stands the comparison) thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? titles; for thy self? me. Thus expecting thy reply, I prophane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part.

Thine in the dearest design of industry,
Don Adriana de Armado.

Prin.
What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?
What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?

Boyet.
I am much deceived, but I remember the stile.

Prin.
Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere while.

Boyet.
This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in court,
A phantasme, a monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the Prince and his book-mates.

Prin.
Thou fellow, a word.
Who gave thee this letter?

Cost.
I told you, my lord.

Prin.
To whom should'st thou give it?

Cost.
From my lord to my lady.

Prin.
From which lord to which lady?

Cost.
From my lord Berown, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline.

Prin.
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come lords away.
Here sweet, put up this, 'twill be thine another day.* ^note










































[Exe.

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