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Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; Shall that finish
the jest? Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.
[Offering to kiss her.
Not so, gentle beast; My lips are no common, though several '1 they be.
Boyet. Belonging to whom?
fortunes Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,
agree: The civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused. Boyet. If my observation (which very seldom
lies), By the heart's still rhetorick, disclosed with eyes", Deceive me not now. Navarre is infected.
Prin. With what ?
11 A quibble is here intended upon the word several, which besides its ordinary signification of separate, distinct, signified also an enclosed pasture as opposed to an open field or common. Bacon and others ased it in this sense. Dr. James has given a different explanation of the term, which may be its local signification, but the above is the general sense in old writers. One example may suffice. There was a lord that was leane of visage, but immediately after his marriage he grew fat. One said to him “ Your Lordship doth contrary to other married men; for they first wax lean, and you wax fat.” Sir Walter Raleigh stood by, and said “ Why there is no beast, that if you take him from the common,
and put him into the several, but he will wax fat.”' -Bacon's Apothegms, 1625, p. 296. 12 So in Daniel's Complaint of Rosamond, 1594 :
• Sweet silent rhetoric of persuading eyes
you give him for
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see 13,
my sake but one loving kiss. Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos’dBoyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye
hath disclos’d: I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak’st
skilfully. Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news
of him. Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her
father is but grim. Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches? Mar.
What then, do you see? Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. Boyet.
You are too hard for me.
13 Although the expression in the text is extremely odd, yet the sense appears to be, that his tongue envied the quickness of his eyes, and strove to be as rapid in its utterance, as they in their perception.
14 In Shakspeare's time notes, quotations, &c. were usually printed in the exterior margin of books,
SCENE I. · Another part of the same.
Enter ARMADO and Moth. Arm. Warble, child, make passionate my sense
of hearing. Moth. Concolineli
[Singing. Arm. Sweet air !-Go, tenderness of this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately? hither; I must employ him in a letter to
Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl3?
Arm. How mean’st thou? brawling in French?
Moth. No, my complete master : but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canaryo to it with your
feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; 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
love by smelling love; with your hat penthouselike o'er the shop
song apparently lost here. In old comedies the songs are frequently omitted. On this occasion the stage direction is generally Here they sing—or Cantant.
2 i. e. hastily. So in Lear: “Advise the Duke where you are going to a most festinate preparation.'
3 A kind of dance; spelt bransle by some authors : being the French name for the same dance. There is the figure of it set down in Marston's Malcontent. It appears that several persons united hands in a circle, and gave each other continual shakes, the steps changing with the tune. It usually consisted of three pas, and a pied-joint to the time of four strokes of the bow; which being repeated, was termed a double brawl.
4 Canary was the name of a sprightly dance, sometimes accompanied by the castanets.
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 humours; these betray nice wenches—that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of note, (do you note, men 6 ?) that most are affected to these.
Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience?
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.
I will prove.
Arm. What wilt thou prove?
5 i. e, accomplishments.
6 One of the modern editors, with great plausibility, proposes to read do you note me?'
7 The allusion is probably to the old popular pamphlet ' A Pennyworth of Wit.'
8 The Hobby-horse was a personage belonging to the ancient Morris dance, when complete. It was the figure of a horse fastened round the waist of a man, his own legs going through the body of the horse, and enabling him to walk, but concealed by a long footcloth; while false legs appeared where those of the man should be at the sides of the horse. Latterly the Hobby-horse was frequently omitted, which appears to have occasioned a popular ballad, in which was this line, or burden. It had become almost a proverbial expression, and occurs again in Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. 2.
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 nothing at all.
Arm. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.
Moth. A message well sympathised; a horse to be embassador for an ass!
Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou?
the horse, for he is very slow-gaited: But I go.
Arm. The way is but short; away.
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Moth. Minimè, honest master; or rather, master, no.
Moth. You are too swift', sir, to say so: Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?
Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetorick! He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:I shoot thee at the swain. Moth.
Thump then, and I fee.
[Exit. Arm. A most acute juvenal: voluble and free of
grace! By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face: Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is return'd.