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Arm. Callift 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: 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 !

Some who were not so wisely precise, but regretted the disuse of the hobby-horse, no doubt, satirized this suspicion of idolatry, and archly wrote the epitaph above alluded to. Now Moth, hearing Armado groan ridiculously, and cry out But oh! but oh!-humorously pieces out his exclamation with the sequel of this epitaph.

THEOBALD. The same line is repeated in Hamlet. See note on Act III. fc. ii. STEEVENS.

but a colt, 1 Colt is a hot, mad-brained, unbroken young fellow; or sometimes an old fellow with youthful desires.


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