Rofa. O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter; Thou now request'ft but moon-fhine in the water. King. Then in our measure vouchfafe but one change; Thou bid'ft me beg, this begging is not strange.

Rofa. Play, musick, then; nay, you must do it foon. Not yet? no dance? thus change I, like the moon. King. Will you not dance? how come you thus eftrang'd? Rofa. You took the moon at full, but now fhe's chang'd. King. Yet ftill fhe is the moon, and I the man. (45) The mufick plays, vouchfafe fome motion to it. Rofa. Our ears vouchsafe it.

King. But your legs fhould do it.

Rofa. Since

you are strangers, and come here by chance, We'll not be nice; take hands ;—we will not dance. King. Why take your hands then!

Rofa. Only to part friends;

Curt'fy, fweet hearts, and fo the measure ends.

King. More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Rofa. We can afford no more at fuch a price.

King. Prize yourselves then; what buys your company?
Rofa. Your absence only.

King. That can never be.

Rofa. Then cannot we be bought; and fo, adieu
Twice to your visor, and half once to you.

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
Rofa. In private then.

King. I am beft pleas'd with that.

Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. Prin. Honey, and milk, and fugar, there is three.

(45) King. Yet ftill fhe is the moon, and I the man.

Rofa. The mufick plays, vouchsafe fome motion to it;

Our ears vouchsafe it.]

This verfe, about the man in the moon, I verily believe to be fpurious, and an interpolation: because, in the first place, the conceit of it is not pursued; and then it entirely breaks in upon the chain of the couplets, and has no rhyme to it. However, I have not ventur'd to cafhier it. The 2d verfe is given to Rofaline, but very abfurdly. The King is intended to folicit the Princefs to dance: but the Ladies had beforehand declar'd their refolutions of not complying. It is evident therefore, that it is the King, who fhould importune Rofaline, whom he mistakes for the Princefs, to dance with him.

VOL. II.

L

Biron.

Biron. Nay then, two treys; and if you grow so nice, Methegline, wort, and malmsey ;—well run, dice: There's half a dozen fweets.

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu;

Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.

Biron. One word in fecret.

Prin. Let it not be sweet.

Biron. Thou griev'ft my gall.

Prin, Gall? bitter.

Biron. Therefore meet.

Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? Mar. Name it.

Dum. Fair Lady-

Mar. Say you io? fair Lord :

Take that for your fair Lady.
Dum. Please it you ;

As much in private; and I'll bid adieu.

Cath. What, was your vizor made without a tongue ? Long. I know the reason, Lady, why you ask. Cath. O, for your reafon ! quickly, Sir; I long. Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my fpeechlefs vizor half.

Cath. Veal, quoth the Dutch man; is not veal a calf? Long. A calf, fair Lady?

Cath. No, a fair Lord-calf.

Long. Let's part the word.

Cath. No, I'll not be

your half;

Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.

Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! Will you give horns, chafte Lady? do not fo.

Cath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Long. One word in private with you, ere I die.

Cath. Bleat foftly then, the butcher hears you cry.

Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor's edge, invincible,

Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen :

Above the sense of sense, so fenfible

Seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings; Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, fwifter things. Rofa. Not one word more,my maids; break off, break off.

3

Birin.

Biron. By heaven, all dry beaten with pure fcoff. King. Farewel, mad wenches, you have fimple wits. [Exeunt King and Lords. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Mufcovites. Are these the breed of wits fo wondred at ?

Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puft out.
Rofa. Well-liking wits they have; gross,grofs; fat, fat.
Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly poor flout:

Will they not (think you) hang themfelves to-night ?
Or ever, but in vizors, fhew their faces?
This pert Biron was out of count'nance quite.
Rofa. O! they were all in lamentable cafes.
The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all fuit.
Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his fword:
No, point, quoth I; my fervant ftrait was mute.
Cath. Lord Longaville faid, I came o'er his heart;
And trow, you, what he call'd me!
Prin. Qualm, perhaps.

Cath. Yes, in good faith,

Prin. Go, fick nefs as thou art!

Rofa. Well, better wits have worn plain statute caps.
But will you hear? the King is my love fworn.
Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Cath. And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as fure as bark on tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty miftreffes, give ear;
Immediately they will again be here

In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digeft this harsh indignity.

Prin. Will they return?

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows ;
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
Therefore change favours, and when they repair,
Blow like fweet rofes in this fummer air.

Prin. How blow? how blow? fpeak to be understood.
Boyet. Fair Ladies, mafkt, are roses in their bud; (46)

(46) Fair Ladies mafkt are rofes in the bud:

Difmafkt, their damosk sweet commixture fhown,
Are angels vailing clouds, or rofes blown.]

L 2

Or

Or angel-veiling clouds: are roses blown,
Difmafkt, their damask sweet commixture fhewn.
Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! what shall we do,
If they return in their own fhapes to woo?

Rof. Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them ftill, as well known, as difguis'd;
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Difguis'd, like Muscovites, in fhapelefs gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their fhallow fhows, and prologue vildly pen'd,
And their rough carriage fo ridiculous,
Should be prefented at our tent to us.

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand.
Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er the land.
[Exeunt.

ACT

V.

SCENE, before the Princess's Pavilion.

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their own habits; Boyet, meeting them.

FA

KING.

Air Sir, God fave you. Where's the Princess?
Boyet. Gone to her tent.

L

Please it your Majefty, command me any service to her? King. That fhe vouchfafe me audience for one word. Boyet. I will; and fo will fhe, I know, my Lord[Exit. Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again, when Jove doth please :

As thefe lines ftand in all the editions, there is not only an Anticlimax with a vengeance; but fuch a jumble, that makes the whole, I think, ftark nonfenfe. I have ventur'd at a tranfpofition of the 2d and 3d lines, by the advice of my friend Mr. Warburton; and by a minute change, or two, clear'd up the fenfe, I hope, to the poet's intention.

He

He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares
At wakes and waffals, meetings, markets, fairs:
And we that fell by grofs, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This Gallant pins the wenches on his fleeve,
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.
He can carve too, and lifp: why, this is he,
That kift away his hand in courtesy;
This is the ape of form, Monfieur the nice,
That when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms: nay, he can fing
A mean moft mainly; and, in ufhering,
Mend him who can; the ladies call him fweet;
The ftairs, as he treads on them, kifs his feet.
This is the flower, that fmiles on every one, (47)
To fhew his teeth, as white as whale his bone.

(47) This is the flow'r, that fmiles on every one,-]

And

A flower fmiling, is a very odd image. I once fufpected, that the poet might have wrote;

This is the fleerer, fmiles on ev'ry one.

But nothing is to be altered in the text. The metaphor is to be justified by our author's usage in other paffages.

Romeo and Juliet.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower.

And again;

He is not the flower of courtesy; but, I warrant him as gentle as a lamb.

But the complex metaphor, as it ftands in the paffage before us, will be much better justified by a fine piece of criticism, which my ingenious friend Mr. Warburton fent me upon this fubject I'll fubjoin it in his own words. "What the criticks call the broken, disjointed, and mixt "metaphor are very great faults in writing. But then obferve this "rule, which, I think, is of general and conftant ufe in writing, and very neceffary to direct one's judgment in this part of ftile. That when "a metaphor is grown fo common as to defert, as 'twere, the figura"tive, and to be receiv'd into the fimple or common ftyle, then what "may be affirm'd of the fubftance, may be affirm'd of the image, i. e. "the metaphor: for a metaphor is an image. To illuftrate this rule by "the example before us. A very complaifant, finical, over-gracious "perfon was in our author's time fo commonly call'd a flower, (or as he elfewhere ftyles it, the pink of courtesy,) that in common talk, "or in the loweft ftyle, it might be well ufed, without continuing "the discourse in the terms of that metaphor, but turning them on