Arm.

Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

Mot.

Concolinel—

Arm.

Sweet air!—Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Mot.

Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm.

How meanest thou? brawling in French?

Mot.

No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary 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 swallow'd love with singing love; sometime through the nose, as if

you snuft up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms cross'd on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbet 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 compliments, these are humours: these betray nice wenches,—that would be betray'd without these; and make them men of note, (do you note me?) that are most affected to these* ^note.

&blquo;Arm.

&blquo;How hast thou purchas'd this experience?&brquo;

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;By my penny of observation.&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.

&blquo;But, O, but, O,—&brquo;

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;—the hobby-horse is forgot.&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.

&blquo;Call'st thou my love, hobby-horse?&brquo;

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love?&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.

&blquo;Almost I had.&brquo;

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;Negligent student! learn her by heart.&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.

&blquo;By heart, and in heart, boy.&brquo;

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove.&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.

&blquo;What wilt thou prove?&brquo;

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;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.&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.

&blquo;I am all these three.&brquo;

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all† ^note.&brquo;

Arm.

Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.

Mot.

A message well sympathis'd; a horse to be embassador for an ass.

Arm.

Ha, ha; what sayest thou?

Mot.

Marry, Sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited: But I go.

Arm.

The way is but short; away.

Mot.

As swift as lead, Sir.

Arm.
The meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead a metal, heavy, dull, and slow?

Mot.
Minimè, honest master; or rather, master, no.

Arm.
I say, lead is slow.

Mot.
You are too swift, Sir, to say so:
Is that lead slow, which is fired from a gun?

Arm.
Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:—
I shoot thee at the swain.

Mot.
Thump then, and I flee. [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. Re-enter Moth, with Costard limping.

&blquo;Mot.
&blquo;A wonder, master; here's a Costard broken in a shin.

&blquo;Arm.
&blquo;Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy l'envoy; begin.

&blquo;Cos.

&blquo;No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy, no salve in the matter, Sir: O, Sir, plantan, a plain plantan: no l'envoy, no l'envoy, no salve, Sir, but a plantan!&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.

&blquo;By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, my stars! doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy, and the word, l'envoy, for a salve?&brquo;

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve?&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.
&blquo;No, page; it is an epilogue, or discourse, to make plain
&blquo;Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been fain.
I will example it:

&blquo;The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
&blquo;Were still at odds, being but three.
&blquo;There's the moral; Now the l'envoy.

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;I will add the l'envoy; say the moral again.&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.
&blquo;The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
  &blquo;Were still at odds, being but three:

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;Until the goose came out of door,
  &blquo;And stay'd the odds by adding four.

&blquo;Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.&brquo;

&blquo;The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
&blquo;Were still at odds, being but three:

&blquo;Arm.
&blquo;Until the goose came out of door,
  &blquo;Staying the odds by adding four.

&blquo;Mot.
&blquo;A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; Would you desire more?

&blquo;Cos.
&blquo;The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat:—
&blquo;Sir, your penny-worth is good, an your goose be fat.—
&blquo;To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose:
&blquo;Let me see a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose.

&blquo;Arm.
&blquo;Come hither, come hither; How did this argument begin?

&blquo;Mot.
&blquo;By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.
&blquo;Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

&blquo;Cos.
&blquo;True, and I for plantan; thus came your argument in:
&blquo;Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;
&blquo;And he ended the market.

&blquo;Arm.
&blquo;But, tell me; how was there a Costard broken in a shin?

&blquo;Mot.

&blquo;I will tell you sensibly.&brquo;

&blquo;Cos.

&blquo;Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that l'envoy:—&brquo;

&blquo;Arm.

&blquo;We will talk no more of this matter.&brquo;

&blquo;Cos.

&blquo;'Till there be more matter in the shin.&brquo;

Arm.

Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee* ^note.

Cos.

O, marry me to one Frances;—I smell some l'envoy, some goose, in this.

Arm.

By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.

Cos.

True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me loose.

Arm.

I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: Bear this significant to the country maid Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; for the best ward of mine honour, is, rewarding my dependants.—Moth, follow.

Mot.

Like the sequel, I.—Signior Costard, adieu.

Cos.

My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew!— [Exeunt Moth, and Armado. Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that's the latin word for three farthings: Three farthings —remuneration. What's the price of this incle?—A penny.—No; I'll give you a remuneration:—Why, it carries it. Remuneration! why, it is a fairer name than French-crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word.

Bir.

O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.

Cos.

Pray you, Sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration* ^note
?

Bir.

What is remuneration?

Cos.

Marry, Sir, half-penny farthing.

Bir.

O, why then, three-farthing-worth of silk.

Cos.

I thank your worship; Heav'n be wi'you!

Bir.
O, stay, slave; I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall intreat.

Cos.
When would you have it done, Sir.

Bir.

O, this afternoon.

Cos.

Well, I will do it, Sir: fare you well.

Bir.

O, thou knowest not what it is.

Cos.

I shall know, Sir, when I have done it.

Bir.

Why, villain, thou must know first.

Cos.

I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

Bir.

It must be done this afternoon: Hark, slave, it is but this;—

Cos.

Guerdon,—O sweet guerdon! better than remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most sweet guerdon!—I will do it, Sir, in print.—Guerdon—Remuneration.

Bir.
O!—And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip,
A very bedel to a humorous sigh;
A critick; nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This whimp'ring, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
This signior Junio's giant-dwarf, dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rimes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malecontents,
Dread prince of plackets, &blquo;king of cod-pieces* ^note,&brquo;
Sole imperator and great general
Of trotting parators,—O my little heart!—
And I to be a corporal of his file,
And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!
What, what! I love? I sue? I seek a wife?
A woman, that is like a German clock;
Still a repairing; ever out of frame?
And never going right, being a watch,

But being watch'd that it may still go right?
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all:
And, among three, to love the worst of all:
A whitely wanton, with a velvet brow,
With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;
&blquo;Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed,
&blquo;Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague
Which Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty dreadful little might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan;
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit† ^note.

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