Thus dost thou heare the nemean Lion roare,
10691008Gain
st thee thou Lambe, that
stande
st as his pray:
10701009Submi
ssiue fall his princely feete before,
10711010And he from forrage will incline to play.
10721011But if thou
striue (poore
soule) what art thou then?
10731012Foode for his rage, repa
sture for his den.
10741013Quee. What plume of fethers is he that indited this letter?
10751014What vaine? What Wethercock? Did you euer heare better?
10771015Boy. I am much deceiued, but I remember the
stile.
10781016Quee. Els your memorie is bad, going ore it erewhile.
10791017Boy. This
Armado is a
Spaniard that keepes here in court,
10801018A Phanta
sime a Monarcho, and one that makes
sport
10811019To the Prince and his Booke-mates.
10851023Quee. To whom
should
st thou giue it?
10871025Quee. From which Lord, to which Ladie?
10881026Clow. From my Lord
Berowne, a good Mai
ster of mine,
10891027To a Ladie of France, that he calde
Rosaline.
10901028Quee. Thou ha
st mi
staken his letter. Come Lords away.
10911029Here
sweete, put vp this, twilbe thine annother day.
10931030Boy. Who is the
shooter? Who is the
shooter?
10941031Rosa. Shall I teach you to know.
10961033Rosa. Why
she that beares the Bow. Finely put o
ff.
10971034Boy. My Lady goes to kill hornes, but if thou marrie,
10981035hang me by the necke, if horns that yeere mi
scarrie.
11001037Rosa. Well then I am the
shooter.
11021039Rosa. If we choo
se by the hornes, your
selfe come not
11041041Maria. You
still wrangle with her
Boyet, and
she
strikes
11061043Boyet. But
she her
selfe is hit lower: Haue I hit her now?
11081044Rosa. Shall I come vpon thee with an olde
saying, that
was