170: _senior-junior_] Hanmer (Anon. conj. apud Theobald), _signior Junios_ Qq Ff. _signior Juno’s_ Rowe (ed. 2). _signior Junio_ Pope. _Signior Julio’s_ Upton conj. _dwarf_] _dwarfe_ F1. _Dan_] Q1. _Don_ Ff Q2. 177: _field_] _file_ Theobald (Warburton). 179: _What! I love! I sue!_] _What? I love! I sue! what?_ Hanmer. _What? what? I love! I sue!_ Johnson. _What? I! I love! I sue!_ Malone (Tyrwhitt conj.). 180: _German clock_] F2 F3 F4. _Jermane Cloake_ Q1. _Germane Cloake_ F1. _Germaine Cloake_ Q2. 182: _aright_] _right_ Capell. _being a_] Qq F1. _being but_ F2 F3 F4. 186: _wightly_] Edd. _whitley_ Qq F1 F2. _whitely_ F3 F4. _witty_ Collier MS. _whiteless_ Porson conj. See note (X). 194: _sue and groan_] F2 F3 F4. _shue, grone_ Q1 F1. _sue grone_ Q2. _sue, watch, groan_ Lettsom conj. ~~~~~ ACT IV. SCENE I. _The same._ _Enter the_ Princess, _and her train, a_ Forester, BOYET, ROSALINE, MARIA, _and_ KATHARINE. _Prin._ Was that the king, that spurred his horse so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill? _Boyet._ I know not; but I think it was not he. _Prin._ Whoe’er a’ was, a’ showed a mounting mind. Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch: 5 On Saturday we will return to France. Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush That we must stand and play the murderer in? _For._ Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice; A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. 10 _Prin._ I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, And thereupon thou speak’st the fairest shoot. _For._ Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. _Prin._ What, what? first praise me, and again say no? O short-lived pride! Not fair? alack for woe! 15 _For._ Yes, madam, fair. _Prin._ Nay, never paint me now: Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: Fair payment for foul words is more than due. _For._ Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. 20 _Prin._ See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit! O heresy in fair, fit for these days! A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill, And shooting well is then accounted ill. 25 Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: Not wounding, pity would not let me do’t; If wounding, then it was to show my skill, That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. And, out of question, so it is sometimes, 30 Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, When, for fame’s sake, for praise, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart; As I for praise alone now seek to spill The poor deer’s blood, that my heart means no ill. 35 _Boyet._ Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty Only for praise sake, when they strive to be Lords o’er their lords?