Dumain.
King.
Let Fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live registred upon our brazen tombs;
And then grace us in the disgrace of death:
When, spight of cormorant devouring time,
Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy
That honour, which shall bate his sythe's keen edge;
And make us heirs of all eternity.
Therefore, brave Conquerors! for so you are,
That war against your own affections,
And the huge army of the world's desires;
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force.
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
Our Court shall be a little academy,
Still and contemplative in living arts.
You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,
Have sworn for three years term to live with me,
My fellow-scholars; and to keep those statutes,
That are recorded in this schedule here.
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names:
That his own hand may strike his honour down,
That violates the smallest branch herein:
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do,
-- 90 --
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep them too.
Long.
I am resolv'd; 'tis but a three years fast:
The mind shall banquet; tho' the body pine;
Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankerout the wits.
Dum.
My loving lord, Dumain is mortify'd:
The grosser manner of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
With all these living in philosophy.
Biron.
I can but say their protestation over,
So much (dear liege) I have already sworn,
That is, to live and study here three years:
But there are other strict observances;
As, not to see a woman in that term,
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there.
And one day in a week to touch no food,
And but one meal on every day beside;
The which, I hope, is not enrolled there.
And then to sleep but three Hours in the night,
And not be seen to wink of all the day;
(When I was wont to think no harm all night,(1) note
And make a dark night too of half the day;)
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there.
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep;
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep.
King.
Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.
Biron.
Let me say, no, my liege, an if you please;
I only swore to study with your Grace,
And stay here in your Court for three years space.
Long.
You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.
Biron.
By yea and nay, Sir, then I swore in jest.
What is the end of study? let me know?
King.
Why, that to know, which else we should not know.
-- 91 --
Biron.
Things hid and barr'd (you mean) from common sense.
King.
Ay, that is study's god-like recompence.
Biron.
Come on then, I will swear to study so,
To know the thing I am forbid to know;
As thus; to study where I well may dine,
When I to feast expressly am forbid;(2) note
Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
When mistresses from common sense are hid:
Or having sworn too hard a keeping oath,
Study to break it, and not break my troth.
If study's gain be this, and this be so,
Study knows that, which yet it doth not know:
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no.
King.
These be the stops, that hinder study quite;
And train our intellects to vain delight.
Biron.
Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,
Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain;
As, painfully to pore upon a book,
To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
Doth falsly blind the eye-sight of his look:
Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile;
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed,
By fixing it upon a fairer eye;
Who dazling so, that eye shall be his heed,
And give him light, that it was blinded by.
Study is like the Heaven's glorious Sun,
That will not be deep search'd with sawcy looks;
Small have continual plodders ever won,
Save base authority from others books.
-- 92 --
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights,
That give a name to every fixed star,
Have no more profit of their shining nights,
Than those that walk, and wot not what they are.
Too much to know, is to know nought but fame;
And every godfather can give a name.
King.
How well he's read, to reason against reading!
Dum.
Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding.
Long.
He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding.
Biron.
The spring is near, when green geese are a breeding.
Dum.
How follows that?
Biron.
Fit in his place and time.
Dum.
In reason nothing.
Biron.
Something then in rhime.
Long.
Biron is like an envious sneaping frost,
That bites the first-born infants of the spring.
Biron.
Well; say, I am; why should proud summer boast,
Before the birds have any cause to sing?
Why should I joy in an abortive birth?(3) note
At Christmas I no more desire a rose,
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled Earth:
-- 93 --
But like of each thing, that in season grows.
So you, to study now it is too late,
Climb o'er the house t'unlock the little gate.
King.
Well, sit you out.—Go home, Biron: Adieu!
Biron.
No, my good lord, I've sworn to stay with you.
And though I have for barbarism spoke more,
Than for that angel knowledge you can say;
Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore,
And bide the penance of each three years day.
Give me the paper, let me read the same;
And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.
King.
How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!
Biron.
Item, That no woman shall come within a
mile of my Court,
[reading.
Hath this been proclaimed?
Long.
Four days ago.
Biron.
Let's see the penalty.
On pain of losing her tongue:—
[reading.
Who devis'd this penalty?
Long.
Marry, that did I.
Biron.
Sweet lord, and why?
Long.
To fright them hence with that dread penalty.
Biron.
A dangerous law against gentility!(4) note
Item, [reading.] If any man be seen to talk with a
woman within the term of three years, he shall endure
such publick shame as the rest of the Court can
possibly devise.
-- 94 --
This article, my liege, your self must break;
For, well you know, here comes in embassy
The French King's daughter with your self to speak,
A maid of grace and compleat majesty,
About Surrender up of Aquitain
To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father:
Therefore this article is made in vain,
Or vainly comes th' admired Princess hither.
King.
What say you, lords? why, this was quite forgot.
Biron.
So study evermore is overshot;
While it doth study to have what it would,
It doth forget to do the thing it should:
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
'Tis won, as towns with fire; so won, so lost.
King.
We must of force dispense with this decree,
She must lye here on mere necessity.
Biron.
Necessity will make us all forsworn
Three thousand times within this three years space:
For every man with his affects is born:
Not by might master'd, but by special grace.
If I break faith, this word shall speak for me:
I am forsworn on meer necessity.—
So to the laws at large I write my name,
And he, that breaks them in the least degree,
Stands in attainder of eternal shame.
Suggestions are to others, as to me;
But, I believe, although I seem so loth,
I am the last that will last keep his oath.
But is there no quick recreation granted?
King.
Ay, that there is; our Court, you know, is haunted
With a refined traveller of Spain,
A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain:
One, whom the musick of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish, like inchanting harmony:
A man of complements, whom right and wrong
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny.
-- 95 --
This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
For interim to our studies, shall relate
In high-born words the worth of many a Knight
From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate.
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie;
And I will use him for my minstrelsie.
Biron.
Armado is a most illustrious wight,
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own Knight.
Long.
Costard the swain, and he, shall be our sport;
And, so to study, three years are but short.
Enter Dull, and Costard with a letter.
Dull.
Which is the King's own person?(5) note
Biron.
This, fellow; what would'st?
Dull.
I my self reprehend his own person, for I am
his Grace's Tharborough: but I would see his own
person in flesh and blood.
Biron.
This is he.
Dull.
Signior Arme, Arme commends you. There's
villany abroad; this letter will tell you more.
Cost.
Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.
King.
A letter from the magnificent Armado.
Biron.
How low soever the matter, I hope in God
for high words.
Long.
A high hope for a low having; God grant us
patience!(6) note
-- 96 --
Biron.
To hear, or forbear hearing?
Long.
To hear meekly, Sir, to laugh moderately,
or to forbear both.
Biron.
Well, Sir, be it as the stile shall give us cause
to climb in the merriness.
Cost.
The matter is to me, Sir, as concerning Jaquenetta.
The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.
Biron.
In what manner?
Cost.
In manner and form, following, Sir; all those
three. I was seen with her in the Manor-house, sitting
with her upon the Form, and taken following her
into the park; which, put together, is, in manner and
form following. Now Sir, for the manner: It is the
manner of a man to speak to a woman; for the form,
in some form.
Biron.
For the following, Sir?
Cost.
As it shall follow in my correction; and God
defend the right!
King.
Will you hear the letter with attention?
Biron.
As we would hear an oracle.
-- 97 --
Cost.
Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after
the flesh.
King. reads.
Great deputy, the welkin's vice-gerent, and sole
dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's God,
and body's fostring patron—
Cost.
Not a word of Costard yet.
King.
So it is—
Cost.
It may be so; but if he say it is so, he is, in
telling true, but so.
King.
Peace—
Cost.
Be to me, and every man that dares not fight!
King.
No words.
Cost.
Of other men's secrets, I beseech you.
King.
So it is, Besieged with sable-coloured melancholy,
I did commend the black oppressing humour to the most wholesome
physick of thy health-giving air; and as I am a gentleman,
betook my self to walk: The time, when? about
the sixth hour, when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and
men sit down to that nourishment which is call'd supper:
so much for the time, when. Now for the ground, which:
which, I mean, I walkt upon; it is ycleped, thy park.
Then for the place, where; where, I mean, I did encounter
that obscene and most preposterous event, that draweth
from my snow-white pen the ebon-colour'd ink, which here
thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest. But to the
place, where; It standeth north-north-east and by east from
the west corner of thy curious-knotted garden. There did I
see that low-spirited swain, that base minow of thy mirth,
(Cost.
Me?)
that unletter'd small-knowing soul,
(Cost.
Me?)
that shallow vassal,
(Cost.
Still me?)
which, as I
remember, hight Costard;
(Cost.
O me!)
sorted and consorted,
contrary to thy established proclaimed edict and continent
canon, with, with,—O with,—but with this
I passion to say wherewith:
Cost.
With a wench.
King.
With a child of our grandmother Eve, a female;
or for thy more understanding, a woman; him, I (as my
ever-esteem'd duty pricks me on) have sent to thee, to receive
the meed of punishment, by thy sweet Grace's officer,
-- 98 --
Anthony Dull, a man of good repute, carriage, bearing
and estimation.
Dull.
Me, an't shall please you: I am Anthony Dull.
King.
For Jaquenetta, (so is the weaker vessel call'd)
which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain, I keep her
as a vassal of thy law's fury, and shall at the least of thy
sweet notice bring her to tryal. Thine in all complements of
devoted and heart-burning heat of duty,
Don Adriano de Armado.
Biron.
This is not so well as I look'd for, but the
best that ever I heard.
King.
Ay; the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what
say you to this?
Cost.
Sir, I confess the wench.
King.
Did you hear the proclamation?
Cost.
I do confess much of the hearing it, but little
of the marking of it.
King.
It was proclaim'd a year's imprisonment to be
taken with a wench.
Cost.
I was taken with none, Sir, I was taken with
a damosel.
King.
Well, it was proclaimed damosel.
Cost.
This was no damosel neither, Sir, she was a
virgin.
King.
It is so varied too, for it was proclaim'd virgin.
Cost.
If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken
with a maid.
King.
This maid will not serve your turn, Sir.
Cost.
This maid will serve my turn, Sir.
King.
Sir, I will pronounce sentence; you shall fast
a week with bran and water.
Cost.
I had rather pray a month with mutton and
porridge.
King.
And Don Armado shall be your keeper. My
lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er,
And go we, lords, to put in practice that,
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.
[Exe.
Biron.
I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.
Sirrah, come on.
-- 99 --
Cost.
I suffer for the truth, Sir: for true it is, I was
taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl,
and therefore welcome the four cup of prosperity: affliction
may one day smile again, and until then, sit
thee down, sorrow.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE changes to Armado's House.
Enter Armado, and Moth.
Arm.
Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great
spirit grows melancholy?
Moth.
A great sign, Sir, that he will look sad.
Arm.
Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing;
dear imp.
Moth.
No, no; O lord, Sir, no.
Arm.
How can'st thou part sadness and melancholy,
my tender Juvenile?
Moth.
By a familiar demonstration of the working,
my tough Signior.
Arm.
Why, tough Signior? why, tough Signior?
Moth.
Why, tender Juvenile? why, tender Juvenile?
Arm.
I spoke it tender Juvenile, as a congruent epitheton,
appertaining to thy young days, which we
may nominate tender.
Moth.
And I tough Signior, as an appertinent title
to your old time, which we may name tough.
Arm.
Pretty and apt.
Moth.
How mean you, Sir, I pretty, and my saying
apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty?
Arm.
Thou pretty, because little.
Moth.
Little! pretty, because little; wherefore apt?
Arm.
And therefore apt, because quick.
Moth.
Speak you this in my praise, master?
Arm.
In thy condign praise.
Moth.
I will praise an eel with the same praise.
Arm.
What? that an eel is ingenious.
Moth.
That an eel is quick.
Arm.
I do say, thou art quick in answers. Thou
heat'st my blood.—
-- 100 --
Moth.
I am answer'd, Sir.
Arm.
I love not to be crost.
Moth.
He speaks the clean contrary, crosses love not
him.
Arm.
I have promis'd to study three years with the
King.
Moth.
You may do it in an hour, Sir.
Arm.
Impossible.
Moth.
How many is one thrice told?
Arm.
I am ill at reckoning, it fits the spirit of a
tapster.
Moth.
You are a gentleman, and a gamester.
Arm.
I confess both; they are both the varnish of a
compleat man.
Moth.
Then, I am sure, you know how much the
gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.
Arm.
It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth.
Which the base vulgar call, three.
Arm.
True.
Moth.
Why, Sir, is this such a piece of study? now
here's three studied ere you'll thrice wink; and how
easie it is to put years to the word three, and study
three years in two words, the dancing-horse will tell
you.
Arm.
A most fine figure.
Moth.
To prove you a cypher.
Arm.
I will hereupon confess, I am in love; and as
it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a
base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour
of affection would deliver me from the reprobate
thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner; and ransom
him to any French courtier for a new devis'd curt'sie.
I think it scorn to sigh; methinks, I should
out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy, what great men
have been in love?
Moth.
Hercules, master.
Arm.
Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear
boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be
men of good repute and carriage.
-- 101 --
Moth.
Sampson, master; he was a man of good carriage;
great carriage; for he carried the town-gates
on his back like a porter, and he was in love.
Arm.
O well-knit Sampson, strong-jointed Sampson!
I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst
me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was
Sampson's love, my dear Moth?
Moth.
A woman, master.
Arm.
Of what complection?
Moth.
Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or
one of the four.
Arm.
Tell me precisely of what complection?
Moth.
Of the sea-water green, Sir.
Arm.
Is that one of the four complections?
Moth.
As I have read, Sir, and the best of them too.
Arm.
Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but
to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampson had
small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her
wit.
Moth.
It was so, Sir, for she had a green wit.
Arm.
My love is most immaculate white and red.
Moth.
Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask'd
under such colours.
Arm.
Define, define, well-educated infant.
Moth.
My father's wit and my Mother's tongue assist
me!
Arm.
Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty and
pathetical!
Moth.
If she be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known;
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale-white shown;
Then if she fear, or be to blame,
By this you shall not know;
For still her cheeks possess the same,
Which native she doth owe.
A dangerous rhime, master, against the reason of white
and red.
Arm.
Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and
the Beggar?
-- 102 --
Moth.
The world was guilty of such a ballad some
three ages since, but, I think, now 'tis not to be
found; or if it were, it would neither serve for the
writing, nor the tune.
Arm.
I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that
I may example my digression by some mighty president.
Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took
in the park with the rational hind Costard; she deserves
well—
Moth.
To be whipp'd; and yet a better love than
my master.
Arm.
Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.
Moth.
And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.
Arm.
I say, sing.
Moth.
Forbear, 'till this company is past.
Enter Costard, Dull, Jaquenetta a Maid.
Dull.
Sir, the King's pleasure is, that you keep Costard
safe, and you must let him take no delight, nor
no penance; but he must fast three days a week. For
this damsel, I must keep her at the park, she is allow'd
for the day-woman. Fare you well.
Arm.
I do betray my self with blushing: maid,—
Jaq.
Man,—
Arm.
I will visit thee at the lodge.
Jaq.
That's here by.
Arm.
I know, where it is situate.
Jaq.
Lord, how wise you are!
Arm.
I will tell thee wonders.
Jaq.
With that face?
Arm.
I love thee.
Jaq.
So I heard you say.
Arm.
And so farewel.
Jaq.
Fair weather after you!
Dull.
Come, Jaquenetta, away.(7) note
[Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta.
-- 103 --
Arm.
Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offence, ere
thou be pardoned.
Cost.
Well, Sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it
on a full stomach.
Arm.
Thou shalt be heavily punish'd.
Cost.
I am more bound to you, than your followers;
for they are but lightly rewarded.
Arm.
Take away this villain, shut him up.
Moth.
Come, you transgressing slave, away.
Cost.
Let me not be pent up, Sir; I will fast, being
loose.
Moth.
No, Sir, that were fast and loose; thou shalt
to prison.
Cost.
Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation
that I have seen, some shall see—
Moth.
What shall some see?
Cost.
Nay, nothing, master Moth, but what they
look upon. It is not for prisoners to be silent in their
words, and therefore I will say nothing; I thank God,
I have as little patience as another man, and therefore
I can be quiet.
[Exeunt Moth with Costard.
Arm.
I do affect the very ground (which is base)
where her shoe (which is baser) guided by her foot
(which is basest) doth tread. I shall be forsworn,
which is a great argument of falshood, if I love. And
how can that be true love, which is falsly attempted?
love is a familiar, love is a devil; there is no evil angel
but love, yet Sampson was so tempted, and he had
an excellent strength; yet was Solomon so seduced,
and he had a very good wit. Cupid's but-shaft is too
hard for Hercules's club, and therefore too much odds
for a Spaniard's rapier; the first and second cause will
not serve my turn; the Passado he respects not, the
Duello he regards not; his disgrace is to be call'd boy;
but his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour; rust,
rapier; be still, drum; for your manager is in love;
-- 104 --
yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal God of
rhime, for, I am sure, I shall turn sonnet. Devise
wit, write pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
Scene 1
SCENE, before the King of Navarre's Palace.
Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, Catharine, Boyet, Lords and other attendants.
Boyet.
Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits;
Consider, whom the King your father sends;
To whom he sends, and what's his embassy.
Your self, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the sole inheritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitain, a dowry for a Queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When she did starve the general world beside,(8) note
And prodigally gave them all to you.
Prin.
Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues.
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth,
-- 105 --
Than you much willing to be counted wise,
In spending thus your wit in praise of mine.
But now to task the tasker; good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
'Till painful study shall out-wear three years,
No woman may approach his silent Court;
Therefore to us seems it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
Bold of your worthiness, we single you
As our best moving fair sollicitor.
Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,
On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
Importunes personal conference with his Grace.
Haste, signifie so much, while we attend,
Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will.
Boyet.
Proud of imployment, willingly I go.
[Exit.
Prin.
All pride is willing pride, and yours is so;
Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous King?
Lord.
Longaville is one.
Prin.
Know you the man?
Mar.
I knew him, madam, at a marriage feast,
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Faulconbridge solemnized.
In Normandy saw I this Longaville,
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd;
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms,
Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
(If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,)
Is a sharp wit, match'd with too blunt a will;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
It should spare none, that come within his power.
Prin.
Some merry-mocking lord, belike; is't so?
Mar.
They say so most, that most his humours know.
Prin.
Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow.
Who are the rest?
-- 106 --
Cath.
The young Dumain; a well-accomplish'd youth,
Of all that virtue love, for virtue lov'd.
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill;
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
And shape to win grace, tho' he had no wit.
I saw him at the Duke Alanson's once,
And much too little of that good I saw,
Is my report to his great worthiness.
Rosa.
Another of these students at that time
Was there with him, as I have heard a truth;
Biron they call him; but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object, that the one doth catch,
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest;
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales;
And younger hearings are quite ravished;
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
Prin.
God bless my ladies, are they all in love,
That every one her own hath garnished
With such bedecking ornaments of praise?
Mar.
Here comes Boyet.
Enter Boyet.
Prin.
Now, what admittance, Lord?
Boyet.
Navarre had notice of your fair approach;
And he and his competitors in oath
Were all addrest to meet you, gentle lady,
Before I came: marry, thus much I've learnt,
He rather means to lodge you in the field,
Like one that comes here to besiege his Court,
Than seek a dispensation for his oath,
To let you enter his unpeopled house.
Here comes Navarre.
-- 107 --
Enter the King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and Attendants.
King.
Fair Princess, welcome to the Court of Navarre.
Prin.
Fair, I give you back again; and welcome I
have not yet: the roof of this Court is too high to
be yours; and welcome to the wide fields, too base to
be mine.
King.
You shall be welcome, Madam, to my Court.
Prin.
I will be welcome then; conduct me thither.
King.
Hear me, dear Lady, I have sworn an oath.
Prin.
Our Lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn.
King.
Not for the world, fair Madam, by my will.
Prin.
Why, Will shall break its will, and nothing else.
King.
Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.
Prin.
Were my Lord so, his ignorance were wise,
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
I hear, your Grace hath sworn out house-keeping:
'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my Lord;
And sin to break it.
But pardon me, I am too sudden bold:
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my Coming,
And suddenly resolve me in my suit.
King.
Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.
Prin.
You will the sooner, that I were away;
For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay.
Biron.
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
Ros.
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
Biron.
I know, you did.
Ros.
How needless was it then to ask the question?
Biron.
You must not be so quick.
Ros.
'Tis long of you, that spur me with such questions.
Biron.
Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire.
Ros.
Not 'till it leave the rider in the mire.
Biron.
What time o' day?
-- 108 --
Rosa.
The hour, that fools should ask.
Biron.
Now fair befall your mask!
Rosa.
Fair fall the face it covers!
Biron.
And send you many lovers!
Rosa.
Amen, so you be none!
Biron.
Nay, then will I be gone.
King.
Madam, your father here doth intimate
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
Being but th' one half of an intire sum,
Disbursed by my father in his wars.
But say, that he, or we, as neither have,
Receiv'd that sum; yet there remains unpaid
A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which,
One part of Aquitain is bound to us,
Although not valu'd to the mony's worth:
If then the King your father will restore
But that one half which is unsatisfy'd,
We will give up our right in Aquitain,
And hold fair friendship with his Majesty:
But that, it seems, he little purposeth,
For here he doth demand to have repaid
An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,(9) note
On payment of an hundred thousand crowns,
To have his title live in Aquitain;
Which we much rather had depart withal,
And have the mony by our father lent,
Than Aquitain so gelded as it is.
-- 109 --
Dear Princess, were not his requests so far
From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast;
And go well satisfied to France again.
Prin.
You do the King my father too much wrong,
And wrong the reputation of your name,
In so unseeming to confess receipt
Of that, which hath so faithfully been paid.
King.
I do protest, I never heard of it;
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.
Prin.
We arrest your word:
Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For such a sum, from special officers
Of Charles his father.
King.
Satisfie me so.
Boyet.
So please your Grace, the packet is not come,
Where that and other specialties are bound:
To morrow you shall have a sight of them.
King.
It shall suffice me; at which interview,
All liberal reason I will yield unto:
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand,
As honour without breach of honour may
Make tender of, to thy true worthiness.
You may not come, fair Princess, in my gates;
But here, without, you shall be so receiv'd,
As you shall deem your self lodg'd in my heart,
Tho so deny'd fair harbour in my house:
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewel;
To morrow we shall visit you again.
Prin.
Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace!
King.
Thy own Wish wish I thee, in every place.
[Exit.
Biron.
Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.(10) note
-- 110 --
Rosa.
I pray you, do my commendations;
I would be glad to see it.
Biron.
I would, you heard it groan.
Rosa.
Is the fool sick?
Biron.
Sick at the heart.
Rosa.
Alack, let it blood.
Biron.
Would that do it good?
Rosa.
My physick says, ay.
Biron.
Will you prick't with your eye?
Rosa.
No, poynt, with my knife.
Biron.
Now God save thy life!
Rosa.
And yours from long living!
Biron.
I cannot stay thanksgiving.
[Exit.
Dum.
Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?
Boyet.
The heir of Alanson, Rosaline her name.
Dum.
A gallant lady; Monsieur, fare you well.
[Exit.
Long.
I beseech you, a word: what is she in white?
Boyet.
A woman sometimes, if you saw her in the light.
Long.
Perchance, light in the light; I desire her name.
Boyet.
She hath but one for her self; to desire That, were a shame.
Long.
Pray you, Sir, whose daughter?
Boyet.
Her mother's, I have heard.
Long.
God's blessing on your beard!
Boyet.
Good Sir, be not offended.
She is an heir of Faulconbridge.
Long.
Nay, my choller is ended:
She is a most sweet lady.
-- 111 --
Boyet.
Not unlike, Sir; that may be.
[Exit Long.
Biron.
What's her name in the cap?
Boyet.
Catharine, by good hap.
Biron.
Is she wedded or no?
Boyet.
To her will, Sir, or so.
Biron.
You are welcome, Sir: adieu.
Boyet.
Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you.
[Exit Biron.
Mar.
That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord;
Not a word with him but a jest.
Boyet.
And every jest but a word.
Prin.
It was well done of you to take him at his word.
Boyet.
I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board.
Mar.
Two hot sheeps, marry.
Boyet.
And wherefore not ships?
No sheep, (sweet lamb) unless we feed on your lips.
Mar.
You sheep, and I pasture; shall that finish the jest?
Boyet.
So you grant pasture for me.
Mar.
Not so, gentle beast;
My lips are no common, though several they be.
Boyet.
Belonging to whom?
Mar.
To my fortunes and me.
Prin.
Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree.
This civil war of wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd.
Boyet.
If my observation, (which very seldom lies)
By the heart's still rhetorick, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.
Prin.
With what?
Boyet.
With that which we lovers intitle affected.
Prin.
Your reason?
Boyet.
Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the Court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
His heart, like an agat with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be:
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
-- 112 --
To feel only looking on fairest of fair;
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some Prince to buy;
Who tendring their own worth, from whence they were glast,
Did point out to buy them, along as you past.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes inchanted with gazes:
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin
Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd.
Boyet.
But to speak that in words, which his eye hath disclos'd;
I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
Rosa.
Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully.
Mar.
He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.
Rosa.
Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.
Boyet.
Do you hear, my mad wenches?
Mar.
No.
Boyet.
What then, do you see?
Rosa.
Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet.
You are too hard for me.(11) note
[Exeunt.
-- 113 --
Scene 2
SCENE, the PARK; near the Palace.
Enter Armado and Moth.
Arm.
Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.
Moth.
Concolinel—
[Singing.
-- 114 --
Arm.
Sweet Air! go, tenderness of years; take this
key, give inlargement to the swain; bring him festinately
hither: I must employ him in a letter to my
love.
Moth.
Master, will you win your love with a French
brawl?
Arm.
How mean'st thou, brawling in French?
Moth.
No, my compleat master(12) note; but to jig
off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your
feet(13) note
, humour it with turning up your eyelids;
sigh a note and sing a note; sometimes through the
throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love;
sometimes 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 crost 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 complements, these are humours;
these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without
these, and make the men of note(14) note: do you
note men, that are most affected to these?
-- 115 --
Arm.
How hast thou purchas'd this experience?
Moth.
By my pen of observation.
Arm.
But O, but O—
Moth.
The hobby-horse is forgot.(15) note
Arm.
Call'st thou my love hobby-horse?
Moth.
No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt,
-- 116 --
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 out
of, 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 sympathiz'd; a horse to be
embassador for an ass.
Arm.
Ha, ha; what say'st thou?
Moth.
Marry, Sir, you must send the ass upon the
horse, for he is very slow-gated: but I go.
Arm.
The way is but short; away.
Moth.
As swift as lead, Sir.
Arm.
Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull and slow?
Moth.
Minimè, honest master; or rather, master, no.
Arm.
I say, lead is slow.
Moth.
You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
Is that lead slow, Sir, which is fir'd from a gun?
Arm.
Sweet smoak of rhetorick!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
I shoot thee at the swain.
Moth.
Thump then, and I fly.
[Exit.
Arm.
A most acute Juvenile, 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.
-- 117 --
Re-enter Moth and Costard.
Moth.
A wonder, master, here's a Costard broken in a shin.
Arm.
Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l'envoy begin.
Cost.
No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in
the male, Sir. O Sir, plantan, a plain plantan; no
l'envoy, no l'envoy, or salve, Sir, but plantan.
Arm.
By vertue, 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?
Moth.
Doth the wise think them other? is not l'envoy
a salve?
Arm.
No, page, it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it. Now will I begin your moral, and
do you follow with my l'envoy.
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral, now the l'envoy.
Moth.
I will add the l'envoy; say the moral again.
Arm.
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
Moth.
Until the goose came out of door,
And stay'd the odds by adding four.
A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; would you desire more?
Cost.
The boy hath sold him a bargain; a goose, that's flat;
Sir, your penny-worth is good, an your goose be fat.
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose.
Let me see a fat l'envoy; I, that's a fat goose.
Arm.
Come hither, come hither;
How did this argument begin?
Moth.
By saying, that a Costard was broken in a shin.
Then call'd you for a l'envoy.
-- 118 --
Cost.
True, and I for a plantan;
Thus came the argument in;
Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought,
And he ended the market.
Arm.
But tell me; how was there a Costard broken
in a shin?
Moth.
I will tell you sensibly.
Cost.
Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth,
I will speak that l'envoy.
I Costard running out, that was safely within,
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.
Arm.
We will talk no more of this matter.
Cost.
'Till there be more matter in the shin.
Arm.
Sirrah, Costard, I will infranchise thee.
Cost.
O, marry me to one Francis; 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 immur'd,
restrained, captivated, bound.
Cost.
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 honours
is rewarding my dependants. Moth, follow.—
[Exit.
Moth.
Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.
[Exit.
Cost.
My sweet ounce of man's flesh, my in-cony
Jew! 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 a French crown(16) note. I will never buy and
sell out of this word.
-- 119 --
Enter Biron.
Biron.
O my good knave Costard, exceedingly well
met.
Cost.
Pray you, Sir, how much carnation ribbon may
a man buy for a remuneration?
Biron.
What is a remuneration?
Cost.
Marry, Sir, half-penny farthing.
Biron.
O, why then three farthings worth of silk.
Cost.
I thank your worship, God be with you.
Biron.
O stay, slave, I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, my good knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall intreat.
Cost.
When would you have it done, Sir?
Biron.
O, this afternoon.
Cost.
Well, I will do it, Sir: fare you well.
Biron.
O, thou knowest not what it is.
Cost.
I shall know, Sir, when I have done it.
Biron.
Why, villain, thou must know first.
Cost.
I will come to your worship to morrow morning.
Biron.
It must be done this afternoon.
Hark, slave, it is but this:
The Princess comes to hunt here in the park:
And in her train there is a gentle lady;
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
And Rosaline they call her; ask for her,
And to her sweet hand see thou do commend
This seal'd up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go.
Cost.
Guerdon,—O sweet guerdon! better than remuneration,
eleven pence farthing better: most sweet
guerdon! I will do it, Sir, in print. Guerdon, remuneration.—
[Exit.
Biron.
O! and I, forsooth, in love!
I, that have been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh:
-- 120 --
A critick; nay, a night-watch constable,
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal more magnificent.
This whimpled, whining, purblind wayward boy,
This Signior Junio's giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid,(17) note
Regent of love-rimes, lord of folded arms,
Th' anointed Soveraign of sighs and groans:
Leige of all loyterers and malecontents:
Dread Prince of plackets, King of codpieces:
Sole Imperator, and great General
Of trotting parators (O my little heart!)
And I to be a corporal of his File,(18) note
And wear his colours! like a tumbler, stoop!
-- 121 --
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 aright, 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;
Ay, and by heav'n, one that will do the deed,
Tho' 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,
That 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.
ACT III.
Scene 1
SCENE, a Pavilion in the Park near the Palace.
Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Catharine, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester.
Princess.
Was that the King, that spur'd his horse so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?
-- 122 --
Boyet.
I know not; but, I think, it was not he.
Prin.
Who e'er he was, he shew'd a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to day we shall have our dispatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.
Then Forester, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murtherer in?
For.
Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot.
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, then again say, no?
O short-liv'd pride! not fair? alack, for wo!
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.
Prin.
See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresie 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.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot,
Not wounding, Pity would not let me do't:
If wounding, then it was to shew my Skill;
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes;
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.
Boyet.
Do not curst wives hold that self-soveraignty
Only for praise-sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?
Prin.
Only for praise; and praise we may afford
To any lady, that subdues her lord.
-- 123 --
Enter Costard.
Boyet.
Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
Cost.
God dig-you-den all; pray you, which is the
head lady?
Prin.
Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest
that have no heads.
Cost.
Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
Prin.
The thickest and the tallest.
Cost.
The thickest and the tallest? it is so, truth is truth.
An your waste, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
One o' these maids girdles for your waste should be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.
Prin.
What's your will, Sir? what's your will?
Cost.
I have a letter from Monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline.
Prin.
O thy letter, thy letter: he's a good friend of mine.
Stand aside, good bearer.—Boyet, you can carve;(19) note
Break up this capon.
Boyet.
I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
Prin.
We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.
-- 124 --
Boyet reads.
By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible;
true, that thou art beauteous; truth it self, that
thou art lovely; more fairer than fair, beautiful than
beauteous, truer than truth it self; have commiseration
on thy heroical vassal. The magnanimous and
most illustrate King Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious
and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was
that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize
in the vulgar, (O base and obscure vulgar!)
videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame; he came, one;
saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the King.
Why did he come? to see. Why did he see? to overcome.
To whom came he? to the beggar. What
saw he? the beggar. Who overcame he? the beggar.
The conclusion is victory; on whose side? the King's;
the captive is inrich'd: on whose side? the beggar's.
The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose side? the
King's? no, on both in one, or one in both: I am
the King, (for so stands the comparison) thou the
beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command
thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I
could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt
thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? titles: for
thy self? me. Thus expecting thy reply, I prophane
my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my
heart on thy every part.
Thine in the dearest design of industry,
Don Adriano de Armado.
Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey;
Submissive fall his princely feet before,
And he from forage will incline to play.
But if thou strive (poor soul) what art thou then?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
Prin.
What plume of feathers is he, that indited this letter?
What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?
-- 125 --
Boyet.
I am much deceived, but I remember the stile.
Prin.
Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere while.
Boyet.
This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in Court,
A phantasme, a monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the Prince and his book-mates.
Prin.
Thou, fellow, a word:
Who gave thee this letter?
Cost.
I told you; my lord.
Prin.
To whom should'st thou give it?
Cost.
From my lord to my lady.
Prin.
From which lord to which lady?
Cost.
From my lord Berown, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
Prin.
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.
Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day.
[Exit Princess attended.
Boyet.
Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?
Rosa.
Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet.
Ay, my continent of beauty.
Rosa.
Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off.
Boyet.
My lady goes to kill horns: but if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on.—
Rosa.
Well then; I am the shooter.
Boyet.
And who is your Deer?
Rosa.
If we chuse by horns, your self; come not near.
Finely put on, indeed.—
Mar.
You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
Boyet.
But she her self is hit lower. Have I hit her now?
Rosa.
Shall I come upon thee with an old saying,
that was a man when King Pippin of France was a
little boy, as touching the hit it.
Boyet.
So I may answer thee with one as old, that
was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a
little wench, as touching the hit it.
-- 126 --
Rosa.
Thou can'st not hit it, hit it, hit it.
[Singing.
Thou can'st not hit it, my good man.
Boyet.
An I cannot, cannot, cannot;
An I cannot, another can.
[Exit Rosa.
Cost.
By my troth, most pleasant; how both did fit it.
Mar.
A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.
Boyet.
A mark? O, mark but that mark! a mark, says my lady;
Let the mark have a prick in't, to meet at, if it may be.
Mar.
Wide o' th' bow-hand; i'faith, your hand is out.
Cost.
Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.
Boyet.
An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
Cost.
Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the pin.
Mar.
Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.
Cost.
She's too hard for you at pricks, Sir, challenge her to bowl.
Boyet.
I fear too much rubbing; good night, my good owl.
[Exeunt all but Costard.
Cost.
By my soul, a swain; a most simple clown.
Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down!
O' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit,
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.
Armado o' th' one side,—O, a most dainty man;
To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan.
To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly he will swear:
And his Page o' t'other side, that handfull of Wit;
Ah, heav'ns! it is a most pathetical Nit.
[Exit Costard.
-- 127 --
[Shouting within.
Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Sir Nathaniel.
Nath.
Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the
testimony of a good Conscience.
Hol.
The deer was (as you know) sanguis, in blood;
ripe as a pomwater, who now hangeth like a jewel in
the ear of Cœlo, the sky, the welkin, the heav'n; and
anon falleth like a crab on the face of Terra, the soil,
the land, the earth.
Nath.
Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: but, Sir, I
assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.
Hol.
Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Dull.
'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket.
Hol.
Most barbarous intimation; yet a kind of insinuation,
as it were in via, in way of explication; facere,
as it were, replication; or rather, ostentare, to show,
as it were, his inclination; after his undressed, unpolished,
uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered,
or ratherest unconfirmed fashion, to insert
again my haud credo for a deer.
Dull.
I said, the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a
pricket.
Hol.
Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus; O thou monster
ignorance, how deformed dost thou look?
Nath.
Sir, he hath never fed on the dainties that
are bred in a book. He hath not eat paper, as it
were; he hath not drunk ink. His intellect is not replenished.
He is only an animal, only sensible in the
duller parts;(20) note and such barren plants are set before
-- 128 --
us, that we thankful should be for those parts, (which
we taste and feel, ingradare) that do fructify in us,
more than He.
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool;
So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school.
But omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind,
Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind.
Dull.
You two are book-men; can you tell by your wit,
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet?
Hol.
Dictynna, good-man Dull; Dictynna, good-man
Dull.
Dull.
What is Dictynna?
Nath.
A title to Phœbe, to Luna, to the Moon.
Hol.
The moon was a month old, when Adam was no more:
And rought not to five weeks, when he came to five-score.
Th' allusion holds in the exchange.
Dull.
'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the
exchange.
Hol.
God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion
holds in the exchange.
Dull.
And I say, the pollution holds in the exchange;
for the moon is never but a month old; and I say
beside, that 'twas a pricket that the Princess kill'd.
Hol.
Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph
on the death of the deer? and to humour the
ignorant, I have call'd the deer the Princess kill'd, a
pricket.
Nath.
Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it shall
please you to abrogate scurrility.
Hol.
I will something affect the letter; for it argues
facility.
The praiseful Princess pierc'd and prickt
A pretty pleasing pricket.
Some say, a sore; but not a sore,
'Till now made sore with shooting.
-- 129 --
The dogs did yell; put L to sore,
Then sorel jumpt from thicket;
Or pricket sore, or else sorel,
The people fall a hooting.
If sore be sore, then L to sore
Makes fifty sores, O sorel!
Of one sore I an hundred make,
By adding but one more L.
Nath.
A rare talent!
Dull.
If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him
with a talent.
Hol.
This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a
foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes,
objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions.
These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourish'd
in the womb of pia mater, and deliver'd upon the
mellowing of occasion; but the gift is good in those
in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.
Nath.
Sir, I praise the lord for you, and so may
my parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd by you,
and their daughters profit very greatly under you;
you are a good member of the common-wealth.
Hol.
Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, they shall
want no instruction: if their daughters be capable, I
will put it to them. But vir sapit, qui pauca loquitur;
a soul feminine saluteth us.
Enter Jaquenetta, and Costard.
Jaq.
God give you good morrow, master Parson.
Hol.
Master Parson, quasi Person. And if one should
be pierc'd, which is the one?
Cost.
Marry, master school-master, he that is likest
to a hogshead.
Hol.
Of piercing a hogshead; a good Lustre of conceit
in a turf of earth, fire enough for a flint, pearl
enough for a swine: 'Tis pretty; it is well.
Jaq.
Good master Parson, be so good as read me
this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent me
from Don Armathos. I beseech you, read it.
-- 130 --
Hol.
Fauste, precor, gelidâ(21) note quando pecus omne sub umbrâ
Ruminat, and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan, I may
speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice; Vinegia,
Vinegia! qui non te vedi, ei non te pregìa(22) note. Old
Mantuan, old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not,
loves thee not:—ut re sol la mi fa. Under pardon, Sir,
what are the contents? or rather, as Horace says in his:
What! my soul ! verses?(23) note
Nath.
Ay, Sir, and very learned.
Hol.
Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse; Lege,
Domine.
Nath.
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd;
Though to my self forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove;
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.
Study his biass leaves, and makes his book thine eyes;
Where all those pleasures live, that art would comprehend:
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend.
-- 131 --
All ignorant that Soul, that sees thee without wonder:
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire;
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder;
Which, not to anger bent, is musick, and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, Oh pardon, love, this wrong,
That sings heav'n's praise with such an earthly tongue.
Hol.
You find not the Apostrophes, and so miss the accent.
Let me supervise the canzonet(24) note
. Here are
only numbers ratify'd(25) note
; but for the elegancy, facility,
-- 132 --
and golden cadence of poesie, caret: Ovidius Naso
was the man. And why, indeed, Naso; but for smelling
out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? the jerks of
invention? imitari, is nothing: so doth the hound his
master, the ape his keeper, the try'd horse his rider:
But Damosella Virgin, was this directly to you?
Jaq.
Ay, Sir, from one Monsieur Biron, to one of
the strange Queen's Ladies.
Hol.
I will overglance the superscript. To the snow-white
hand of the most beauteous lady Rosaline. I will
look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination
of the party writing, to the person written
unto.
Your Ladyship's in all desir'd employment, Biron.
This Biron is one of the votaries with the King; and
here he hath fram'd a letter to a sequent of the stranger
Queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of progression,
hath miscarry'd. Trip and go, my sweet;
deliver this paper into the hand of the King; it may
concern much; stay not thy complement; I forgive
thy duty: adieu.
Jaq.
Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your
life.
Cost.
Have with thee, my girl.
[Exe. Cost. and Jaq.
Nath.
Sir, you have done this in the fear of God,
very religiously: and as a certain father saith—.
Hol.
Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable
colours. But, to return to the verses; did they
please you, Sir Nathaniel?
Nath.
Marvellous well for the pen.
Hol.
I do dine to day at the father's of a certain pupil
of mine; where if (being repast) it shall please you
to gratifie the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege
I have with the parents of the aforesaid child or
pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where will I prove
-- 133 --
those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of
poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your society.
Nath.
And thank you too: for society (saith the
text) is the happiness of life.
Hol.
And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes
it. Sir, I do invite you too; [To Dull.] you shall
not say me, nay: Pauca verba. Away, the gentles
are at their game, and we will to our recreation.
[Exeunt.
Enter Biron, with a paper in his hand, alone.
Biron.
The King is hunting the deer, I am coursing
my self. They have pitcht a toil, I am toiling in a
pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile! a foul word: well,
set thee down, sorrow; for so they say the fool said,
and so say I, and I the fool. Well prov'd wit. By
the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax, it kills sheep,
it kills me, I a sheep. Well prov'd again on my side.
I will not love; if I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not.
O, but her eye: by this light, but for her eye, I would
not love; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing
in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven,
I do love; and it hath taught me to rhime, and to be
melancholy; and here is part of my rhime, and here
my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already;
the clown bore it; the fool sent it, and the lady
hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady!
by the world, I would not care a pin if the other three
were in. Here comes one with a paper; God give
him grace to groan!
[he stands aside.
Enter the King.
King.
Ay me!
Biron.
Shot, by heav'n! proceed, sweet Cupid; thou
hast thumpt him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap:
in faith, secrets.—
King. [reads.]
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows;
-- 134 --
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright,
Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep;
No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
And they thy glory through my grief will shew;
But do not love thy self, then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O Queen of Queens, how far dost thou excel!
No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell.—
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper;
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
[the King steps aside.
Enter Longaville.
What! Longaville! and reading! listen, ear.
Biron.
Now in thy likeness one more fool appears.
Long.
Ay me! I am forsworn.
Biron.
Why, he comes in like a Perjure, wearing papers.(26) note
King.
In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame.
Biron.
One drunkard loves another of the name.
Long.
Am I the first, that have been perjur'd so?
Biron.
I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know;
Thou mak'st the triumviry, the three-corner-cap of society,
The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.
Long.
I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to move:
O sweet Maria, Empress of my love,
-- 135 --
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
Biron.
O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:
Disfigure not his slop.(27) note
Long.
This same shall go.
[he reads the sonnet.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye
('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument)
Perswade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment:
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee.
My vow was earthy, thou a heav'nly love:
Thy grace, being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is:
Then thou fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
Exhal'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is;
If broken then, it is no fault of mine;
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To lose an oath to win a Paradise?
Biron.
This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity;
A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend, we are much out o' th' way.
-- 136 --
Enter Dumain.
Long.
By whom shall I send this?—company? stay.—
Biron.
All hid, all hid, an old infant play;
Like a demy God, here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools secrets headfully o'er-eye:
More sacks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my wish;
Dumain transform'd? four woodcocks in a dish?
Dum.
O most divine Kate!
Biron.
O most prophane coxcomb!
[aside.
Dum.
By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron.
By earth, she is but corporal; there you lie.(28) note
[aside.
Dum.
Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted.
Biron.
An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.
[aside.
Dum.
As upright as the cedar.
Biron.
Stoop, I say;
Her shoulder is with child.
[aside.
Dum.
As fair as day.
Biron.
Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.
[aside.
Dum.
O that I had my wish!
Long.
And I had mine!
[aside.
King.
And mine too, good Lord!
[aside.
Biron.
Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word?
[aside.
-- 137 --
Dum.
I would forget her, but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.
Biron.
A fever in your blood! why then, incision
Would let her out in sawcers, sweet misprision.
[aside.
Dum.
Once more I'll read the ode, that I have writ.
Biron.
Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit.
[aside.
Dumain reads his sonnet.
On a day, (alack, the day!)
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee:
Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would swear,
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.
This will I send, and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting pain:
O, would the King, Biron and Longaville,
Were lovers too! Ill, to example Ill,
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note:
For none offend, where all alike do dote.
Long.
Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
That in love's grief desir'st society:
[coming forward.
You may look pale; but I should blush, I know,
To be o'er-heard, and taken napping so.
-- 138 --
King.
Come, Sir, you blush; as his, your case is such;
[coming forward.
You chide at him, offending twice as much.
You do not love Maria? Longaville
Did never sonnet for her sake compile.
Nor never lay'd his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart?
I have been closely shrowded in this bush,
And markt you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty rhimes, observ'd your fashion;
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion.
Ay me! says one; O Jove! the other cries;
Her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes.
You would for Paradise break faith and troth;
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
What will Biron say, when that he shall hear
A faith infringed, which such zeal did swear?
How will he scorn? how will he spend his wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did see,
I would not have him know so much by me.
Biron.
Now step I forth to whip hypocrisie.
Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee, pardon me.
[Coming forward.
Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love?
Your eyes do make no coaches in your tears,
There is no certain Princess that appears?
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing;
Tush; none but minstrels like of sonnetting.
But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not
All three of you, to be thus much o'er-shot?
You found his mote, the King your mote did see:
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a scene of fool'ry have I seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen?
O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
To see a King transformed to a Knot!
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg?
-- 139 --
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And Critick Timon laugh at idle toys?
Where lyes thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longaville, where lyes thy pain?
And where my Liege's? all about the breast?
A candle, hoa!
King.
Too bitter is thy jest.
Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?
Biron.
Not you by me, but I betray'd by you.
I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engaged in.
I am betray'd by keeping company
With men, like men, of strange inconstancy,
When shall you see me write a thing in rhime?
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me? when shall you hear, that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gate, a state, a brow, a breast, a waste,
A leg, a limb?
King.
Soft, whither away so fast?
A true man or a thief, that gallops so?
Biron.
I post from love; good lover, let me go.
Enter Jaquenetta and Costard.
Jaq.
God bless the King!
King.
What Present hast thou there?
Cost.
Some certain treason.
King.
What makes treason here?
Cost.
Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.
King.
If it mar nothing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away together.
Jaq.
I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read,
Our Parson misdoubts it: it was treason, he said.
King.
Biron, read it over,
[He reads the letter.
Where hadst thou it?
Jaq.
Of Costard.
King.
Where hadst thou it?
Cost.
Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
King.
How now, what is in you? why dost thou tear it?
-- 140 --
Biron.
A toy, my Liege, a toy: your Grace needs not fear it.
Long.
It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it.
Dum.
It is Biron's writing, and here is his name.
Biron.
Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame.
[To Costard.
Guilty, my lord, guilty: I confess, I confess.
King.
What?
Biron.
That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess.
He, he, and you; and you, my Liege, and I
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.
Dum.
Now the number is even.
Biron.
True, true; we are four:
Will these turtles be gone?
King.
Hence, Sirs, away.
Cost.
Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.
[Exeunt Cost. and Jaquen.
Biron.
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us imbrace:
As true we are, as flesh and blood can be.
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven will shew his face:
Young blood doth not obey an old decree.
We cannot cross the cause why we were born:
Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn.
King.
What, did these rent lines shew some love of thine?
Biron.
Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline,
That (like a rude and savage man of Inde,
At the first opening of the gorgeous east)
Bows not his vassal head, and, strucken blind,
Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
That is not blinded by her Majesty?
King.
What zeal, what fury, hath inspir'd thee now?
My love (her mistress) is a gracious moon;
She (an attending star) scarce seen a light.
-- 141 --
Biron.
My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron.
O, but for my love, day would turn to night.
Of all complexions the cull'd Soveraignty,
Do meet, as at a Fair, in her fair cheek;
Where several worthies make one dignity;
Where nothing wants, that want it self doth seek.
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues;
Fie, painted rhetorick! O, she needs it not:
To things of sale, a seller's praise belongs:
She passes praise, the praise too short doth blot.
A wither'd hermit, fivescore winters worn,
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,
And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy;
O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine.
King.
By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron.
Is ebony like her? O wood divine!(29) note
A wife of such wood were felicity.
O, who can give an oath? where is a book,
That I may swear, Beauty doth beauty lack;
If that she learn not of her eye to look?
No face is fair, that is not full so black?
King.
O paradox, black is the badge of hell:
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night;(30) note
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.
Biron.
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light:
O, if in black my lady's brow be deckt,
It mourns, that Painting and usurping Hair
Should ravish doters with a false aspect:
And therefore is she born to make black fair.
-- 142 --
Her Favour turns the fashion of the days,
For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints it self black to imitate her brow.
Dum.
To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black.
Long.
And since her time, are colliers counted bright.
King.
And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack.
Dum.
Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.
Biron.
Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
For fear their colours should be washt away.
King.
'Twere good, yours did: for, Sir, to tell you plain,
I'll find a fairer face not washt to day:
Biron.
I'll prove her fair, or talk 'till dooms-day here.
King.
No devil will fright thee then so much as she.
Dum.
I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.
Long.
Look, here's thy love; my foot and her face see.
Biron.
O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread.
Dum.
O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies
The street should see as she walkt over head.
King.
But what of this, are we not all in love?
Biron.
Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn.
King.
Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
Dum.
Ay, marry, there;—some flattery for this evil.
Long.
O, some authority how to proceed;
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.
Dum.
Some salve for perjury.
Biron.
O, 'tis more than need.
Have at you then, Affection's Men at arms;(31) note
-- 143 --
Consider, what you first did swear unto:
To fast, to study, and to see no woman;
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young:
And abstinence ingenders maladies.
And where that you have vow'd to study, (Lords)
In That each of you hath forsworn his book.
Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?
For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you,
Have found the ground of Study's excellence,
Without the beauty of a woman's face?
From womens eyes this doctrine I derive;
They are the ground, the book, the academies,
From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire:
Why, universal plodding prisons up
The nimble spirits in the arteries;
As motion and long-during action tires
The sinewy vigour of the traveller.
Now, for not looking on a woman's face,
You have in That forsworn the use of eyes;
And Study too, the causer of your vow.
For where is any author in the world,
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
Learning is but an adjunct to our self,
And where we are, our Learning likewise is.
Then, when our selves we see in ladies eyes,
Do we not likewise see our Learning there?
O, we have made a vow to study, lords;
And in that vow we have forsworn our books:
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
In leaden contemplation have found out
Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes
Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with?
-- 144 --
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;
And therefore finding barren practisers,
Scarce shew a harvest of their heavy toil.
But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,
Lives not alone immured in the brain:
But with the motion of all elements,
Courses as swift as thought in every power;
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their functions and their offices.
It adds a precious Seeing to the eye:
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind!
A lover's ear will hear the lowest Sound,
When the suspicious head of thrift is stopt.(32) note
Love's Feeling is more soft and sensible,
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails.
Love's Tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in Taste;
For Savour, is not Love a Hercules?
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides.(33) note
-- 145 --
Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair:
And when Love speaks the voice of all the Gods,(34) note
Mark, Heaven drowsie with the harmony!
Never durst Poet touch a pen to write,
Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs;
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.—
From womens eyes this doctrine I derive:
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire,
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That shew, contain, and nourish all the world;
Else none at all in ought proves excellent.
Then fools you were, these women to forswear:
-- 146 --
Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.
For wisdom's sake (a word, that all men love)
Or for love's sake, (a word, that loves all men;)
Or for mens sake, (the author of these women;)
Or womens sake, (by whom we men are men;)
Let us once lose our oaths, to find our selves;
Or else we lose our selves, to keep our oaths.
It is religion to be thus forsworn,
For charity it self fullfills the law;
And who can sever love from charity?
King.
Saint Cupid then! and, soldiers, to the field!
Biron.
Advance your standards, and upon them, Lords;
Pell-mell, down with them; but be first advis'd,
In conflict that you get the sun of them.
Long.
Now to plain-dealing, lay these glozes by;
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?
King.
And win them too; therefore let us devise
Some entertainment for them in their Tents.
Biron.
First, from the Park let us conduct them thither;
Then homeward every man attach the hand
Of his fair mistress; in the afternoon
We will with some strange pastime solace them,
Such as the shortness of the time can shape:
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,
Forerun fair love, strewing her way with flowers.
King.
Away, away! no time shall be omitted,
That will be time, and may by us be fitted.
Biron.
Allons! allons! sown Cockle reap'd no corn;(35) note
And justice always whirls in equal measure;
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
If so, our copper buys no better treasure.
[Exeunt.
-- 147 --
ACT IV.
Scene 1
SCENE, the Street.
Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel and Dull.
Holofernes.
Satis, quod sufficit.
Nath.
I praise God for you, Sir, your reasons
at dinner have been sharp and sententious; pleasant
without scurrility, witty without affectation, audacious
without impudency, learned without opinion;
and strange without heresy: I did converse this quondam-day
with a companion of the King's, who is entituled,
nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.
Hol.
Novi hominem, tanquam te. His humour is
lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his
eye ambitious, his gate majestical, and his general behaviour
vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is too
piqued, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were;
too peregrinate, as I may call it.
Nath.
A most singular and choice epithet.
[draws out his table-book.
Hol.
He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer
than the staple of his argument. I abhor such phanatical
phantasms, such insociable and point-devise companions;
such rackers of orthography, as do speak dout
fine, when he should say doubt; det, when he should
pronounce debt; d, e, b, t; not d, e, t: he clepeth a
calf, cauf: half, hauf: neighbour vocatur nebour;
neigh abbreviated ne: this is abominable, which we
would call abhominable:(36) note
it insinuateth me of Insanie
Ne intelligis Domine, to make frantick, lunatick?
-- 148 --
Nath.
Laus deo, bone, intelligo.
Hol.
Bone?—bone, for benè; Priscian a little
scratch'd; 'twill serve.
Enter Armado, Moth and Costard.
Nath.
Videsne quis venit?
Hol.
Video, & gaudeo.
Arm.
Chirra.
Hol.
Quare Chirra, not Sirrah?
Arm.
Men of Peace, well encountred.
Hol.
Most military, Sir, salutation.
Moth.
They have been at a great feast of languages,
and stole the scraps.
Cost.
O, they have liv'd long on the Alms-basket of
words. I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee for a
word; for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus:
thou art easier swallow'd than a
flap-dragon.
Moth.
Peace, the peal begins.
Arm.
Monsieur, are you not letter'd?
Moth.
Yes, yes, he teaches boys the horn-book:
What is A B spelt backward with a horn on his head?
Hol.
Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.
Moth.
Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn. You hear
his learning.
-- 149 --
Hol.
Quis, quis, thou consonant?
Moth.
The third of the five vowels, if you repeat
them; or the fifth, if I.(37) note
Hol.
I will repeat them, a e I—
Moth.
The sheep; the other two concludes it, o, u.
Arm.
Now by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a
sweet touch, a quick venew of wit; snip, snap, quick
and home; it rejoiceth my intellect; true wit.
Moth.
Offer'd by a child to an old man: which is
wit-old.
Hol.
What is the figure? what is the figure?
Moth.
Horns.
Hol.
Thou disputest like an infant; go, whip thy gigg.
Moth.
Lend me your horn to make one, and I will
whip about your infamy(38) note circùm circà; a gigg of
a cuckold's horn.
Cost.
An I had but one penny in the world, thou
shouldst have it to buy ginger-bread; hold, there is
the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou half-penny
purse of wit, thou pidgeon-egg of discretion.
O, that the heav'ns were so pleased, that thou wert but
my bastard! what a joyful father wouldst thou make
me? go to, thou hast it ad dunghill; at the finger's
ends, as they say.
Hol.
Oh, I smell false latine, dunghil for unguem.
Arm.
Arts-man, præambula; we will be singled from
the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house
on the top of the mountain?
Hol.
Or, Mons the hill.
-- 150 --
Arm.
At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.
Hol.
I do, sans question.
Arm.
Sir, it is the King's most sweet pleasure and
affection, to congratulate the Princess at her Pavilion,
in the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude
call the afternoon.
Hol.
The posterior of the day, most generous Sir, is
liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon:
the word is well cull'd, choice, sweet, and apt, I do
assure you, Sir, I do assure.
Arm.
Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my
familiar; I do assure ye, my very good friend; for
what is inward between us, let it pass—I do beseech
thee, remember thy curtesie—I beseech thee,
apparel thy head,—and among other importunate and
most serious designs, and of great import indeed
too—but let that pass:—for I must tell thee, it will
please his Grace (by the world) sometime to lean upon
my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger thus
dally with my excrement, with my mustachio; but
sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no
fable; some certain special honours it pleaseth his
Greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of
travel, that hath seen the world; but let that pass—
the very all of all is—but sweet heart, I do implore
secrecy—that the King would have me present the
Princess (sweet chuck) with some delightful ostentation,
or show, or pageant, or antick, or fire-work. Now,
understanding that the Curate and your sweet self are
good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking out of
mirth, (as it were) I have acquainted you withal, to the
end to crave your assistance.
Hol.
Sir, you shall present before her the nine Worthies.
Sir, as concerning some entertainment of time,
some show in the posterior of this day, to be rendred
by our assistants at the King's command, and this most
gallant, illustrate and learned gentleman, before the
Princess: I say, none so fit as to present the nine
Worthies.
-- 151 --
Nath.
Where will you find men worthy enough to
present them?
Hol.
Joshua, your self; this gallant man, Judas Macabeus;
this swain (because of his great limb or joint)
shall pass Pompey the great; and the page, Hercules.
Arm.
Pardon, Sir, error: he is not quantity enough
for that Worthy's thumb; he is not so big as the end
of his club.
Hol.
Shall I have audience? he shall present Hercules
in minority: his Enter and Exit shall be strangling a
snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose.
Moth.
An excellent device: for if any of the audience
hiss, you may cry; “well done, Hercules, now
thou crushest the snake;” that is the way to make
an offence gracious, tho' few have the grace to do it.
Arm.
For the rest of the Worthies,
Hol.
I will play three my self.
Moth.
Thrice-worthy gentleman?
Arm.
Shall I tell you a thing?
Hol.
We attend.
Arm.
We will have, if this fadge not, an Antick.
I beseech you, follow.
Hol.
Via! good-man Dull, thou hast spoken no word
all this while.
Dull.
Nor understood none neither, Sir.
Hol.
Allons; we will employ thee.
Dull.
I'll make one in a dance, or so: or I will
play on the taber to the Worthies, and let them dance
the hay.
Hol.
Most dull, honest, Dull, to our Sport away.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE, before the Princess's Pavilion.
Enter Princess, and Ladies.
Prin.
Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,
If Fairings come thus plentifully in.
A lady wall'd about with diamonds!—
Look you, what I have from the loving King.
Rosa.
Madam, came nothing else along with That?
-- 152 --
Prin.
Nothing but this? yes, as much love in rhyme,(39) note
As would be cram'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all;
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.
Rosa.
That was the way to make his God-head wax,
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.
Cath.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.
Rosa.
You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd your sister.
Cath.
He made her melancholy, sad and heavy,
And so she died; had she been light, like you,
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,
She might have been a grandam ere she dy'd.
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.
Rosa.
What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?
Cath.
A light condition, in a beauty dark.
Rosa.
We need more light to find your meaning out.
Cath.
You'll marr the light, by taking it in snuff:
Therefore I'll darkly end the argument.
Rosa.
Look, what you do; and do it still i'th' dark.
Cath.
So do not you, for you are a light wench.
Rosa.
Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.
Cath.
You weigh me not; O, that's, you care not for me.
Rosa.
Great reason; for past Cure is still past Care.(40) note
Prin.
Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd.
But, Rosaline, you have a Favour too:
Who sent it? and what is it?
-- 153 --
Rosa.
I would, you knew.
And if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron.
The numbers true; and were the numbring too,
I were the fairest Goddess on the ground.
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter.
Prin.
Any thing like?
Rosa.
Much in the letters, nothing in the praise.
Prin.
Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.
Cath.
Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
Rosa.
Ware pencils. How? let me not die your debter,
My red dominical, my golden letter.
O, that your face were not so full of Oes!
Cath.
Pox of that jest, and I beshrew all shrews:(41) note
Prin.
But what was sent to you from fair Dumaine?
Cath.
Madam, this glove.
Prin.
Did he not send you twain?
Cath.
Yes, madam; and moreover,
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover.
A huge translation of hypocrisie,
Vildly compil'd, profound simplicity.
Mar.
This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville;
The letter is too long by half a mile.
Prin.
I think no less; dost thou not wish in heart,
The chain were longer, and the letter short?
Mar.
Ay, or I would these hands might never part.
Prin.
We are wise girls, to mock our lovers for't.
Rosa.
They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
That same Biron I'll torture, ere I go.
O, that I knew he were but in by th' week,
-- 154 --
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhimes,
And shape his service all to my behests,
And make him proud to make me proud with jests:
So Pedant-like would I o'ersway his state,(42) note
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.
Prin.
None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd,
As wit turn'd fool; folly, in wisdom hatch'd,
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school;
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.
Rosa.
The blood of youth burns not in such excess,
As gravities revolt to wantonness.
Mar.
Folly in fools bears not so strong a note,
As fool'ry in the wise, when wit doth dote:
Since all the power thereof it doth apply,
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.
Enter Boyet.
Prin.
Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
Boyet.
O, I am stab'd with laughter; where's her Grace?
Prin.
Thy news, Boyet?
Boyet.
Prepare, madam, prepare.
Arm, wenches, arm; Encounters mounted are
Against your peace; love doth approach disguis'd,
Armed in arguments; you'll be surpriz'd.
Muster your wits, stand in your own defence,
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.
Prin.
Saint Dennis, to saint Cupid! what are they,
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.
-- 155 --
Boyet.
Under the cool shade of a sycamore,
I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;
When, lo! to interrupt my purpos'd Rest,
Toward that shade, I might behold, addrest
The King and his companions; warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by;
And over-heard, what you shall over-hear:
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
Their Herald is a pretty knavish Page,
That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage.
Action and accent did they teach him there;
Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear;
And ever and anon they made a doubt,
Presence majestical would put him out:
For, quoth the King, an Angel shalt thou see;
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.
The boy reply'd, an Angel is not evil;
I should have fear'd her, had she been a Devil.—
With that all laugh'd, and clap'd him on the shoulder,
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd, and swore,
A better speech was never spoke before.
Another with his finger and his thumb,
Cry'd, via! we will do't, come what will come.
The third he caper'd and cry'd, all goes well:
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
With that they all did tumble on the ground,
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,(43) note
That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.
-- 156 --
Prin.
But what, but what, come they to visit us?
Boyet.
They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus,
Like Moscovites, or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parley, court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress; which they'll know
By Favours sev'ral, which they did bestow.
Prin.
And will they so? the gallants shall be taskt;
For, ladies, we will every one be maskt:
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despight of suite, to see a lady's face.
Hold, Rosaline; this Favour thou shalt wear,
And then the King will court thee for his Dear:
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine;
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline.
And change your Favours too; so shall your Loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.
Rosa.
Come on then, wear the Favours most in sight.
Cath.
But in this changing, what is your intent?
Prin.
Th' effect of my intent is to cross theirs;
They do it but in mocking merriment,
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several councils they unbosom shall
To loves mistook, and so be mockt withal,
Upon the next occasion that we meet
With visages display'd to talk and greet.
Rosa.
But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?
Prin.
No; to the death, we will not move a foot;
Nor to their pen'd speech render we no grace:
But while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face.
Boyet.
Why, that contempt will kill the Speaker's heart,
And quite divorce his memory from his Part.
Prin.
Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt,
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such Sport, as Sport by Sport o'erthrown;
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own;
So shall we stay, mocking intended game;
And they, well mockt, depart away with shame.
[Sound.
Boyet.
The trumpet sounds; be maskt, the maskers come.
-- 157 --
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, Dumain, and attendants, disguis'd like Moscovites; Moth with Musick, as for a masquerade.
Moth.
All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!
Boyet.
Beauties, no richer than rich taffata.(44) note
Moth.
A holy parcel of the fairest dames,
That ever turn'd their backs to mortal views.
[The ladies turn their backs to him.
Biron.
Their eyes, villain, their eyes.
Moth.
That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views.
Out—
Biron.
True; out, indeed.
Moth.
Out of your favours, heav'nly Spirits, vouchsafe
Not to behold.
Biron.
Once to behold, rogue.
Moth.
Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes—
With your sun-beamed eyes—
Boyet.
They will not answer to that epithete;
You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes.
Moth.
They do not mark me, and that brings me out.
Biron.
Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue.
Rosa.
What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet.
If they do speak our language, 'tis our Will
That some plain man recount their purposes.
Know, what they would.
Boyet.
What would you with the Princess?
Biron.
Nothing, but peace and gentle visitation.
Rosa.
What would they, say they?
Boyet.
Nothing, but peace and gentle visitation.
Rosa.
Why, That they have; and bid them so be gone.
-- 158 --
Boyet.
She says, you have it; and you may be gone.
King.
Say to her, we have measur'd many miles,
To tread a measure with her on the grass.
Boyet.
They say, that they have measur'd many a mile,
To tread a measure with you on this grass.
Rosa.
It is not so. Ask them, how many inches
Is in one mile: if they have measur'd many,
The measure then of one is easily told.
Boyet.
If to come hither you have measur'd miles,
And many miles; the Princess bids you tell,
How many inches doth fill up one mile?
Biron.
Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.
Boyet.
She hears her self.
Rosa.
How many weary steps
Of many weary miles, you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile?
Biron.
We number nothing that we spend for you;
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchsafe to shew the sunshine of your face,
That we (like savages) may worship it.
Rosa.
My face is but a moon and clouded too.
King.
Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do.
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.
Rosa.
O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'st but moon-shine in the water.
King.
Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change;
Thou bid'st me beg, this begging is not strange.
Rosa.
Play, musick, then; nay, you must do it soon.
Not yet? no dance? thus change I, like the moon.
King.
Will you not dance? how come you thus estrang'd?
Rosa.
You took the moon at full, but now she's chang'd.
-- 159 --
King.
Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.(45) note
The musick plays, vouchsafe some motion to it
Rosa.
Our ears vouchsafe it
King.
But your legs should do it.
Rosa.
Since you are strangers, and come here by chance,
We'll not be nice; take hands;—we will not dance.
King.
Why take you hands then!
Rosa.
Only to part friends;
Curt'sie, sweet hearts, and so the measure ends.
King.
More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Rosa.
We can afford no more at such a price.
King.
Prize your selves then; what buys your company?
Rosa.
Your absence only.
King.
That can never be.
Rosa.
Then cannot we be bought; and so, adieu;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you.
King.
If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
Rosa.
In private then.
King.
I am best pleas'd with That.
Biron.
White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.
Prin.
Honey, and milk, and sugar, there is three.
Biron.
Nay then, two treys; and if you grow so nice,
Methegline, wort, and malmsey;—well run, dice:
There's half a dozen sweets.
Prin.
Seventh sweet, adieu;
Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.
-- 160 --
Biron.
One word in secret.
Prin.
Let it not be sweet.
Biron.
Thou griev'st 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 so? 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 reason! quickly, Sir; I long.
Long.
You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless 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 your self in these sharp mocks!
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.
Cath.
Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Long.
One word in private with you, ere I die.
Cath.
Bleat softly 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 sensible
Seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings;
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.
Rosa.
Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.
-- 161 --
Biron.
By heaven, all dry beaten with pure scoff.—
King.
Farewell, mad wenches, you have simple wits.
[Exeunt King and Lords.
Prin.
Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Are these the Breed of wits so wondred at?
Boyet.
Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puft out.
Rosa.
Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.
Prin.
O poverty in wit, kingly poor flout:
Will they not (think you) hang themselves to night?
Or ever, but in vizors, shew their faces?
This pert Biron was out of count'nance quite.
Rosa.
O! they were all in lamentable cases.
The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Prin.
Biron did swear himself out of all suit.
Mar.
Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
No, point, quoth I; my servant strait was mute.
Cath.
Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
And, trow you, what he call'd me!
Prin.
Qualm, perhaps.
Cath.
Yes, in good faith.
Prin.
Go, sickness as thou art!
Rosa.
Well, better wits have worn plain statute caps.
But will you hear? the King is my love sworn.
Prin.
And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Cath.
And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar.
Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.
Boyet.
Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digest 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 sweet roses in this summer air.
Prin.
How blow? how blow? speak to be understood.
-- 162 --
Boyet.
Fair ladies, maskt, are roses in their bud;(46) note
Or angel-veiling Clouds: are roses blown,
Dismaskt, their damask sweet Commixture shewn.
Prin.
Avaunt, perplexity! what shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo?
Ros.
Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd;
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd, like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their shallow Shows, and Prologue vildly pen'd,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented 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 1
SCENE, before the Princess's Pavilion.
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their own habits; Boyet, meeting them.
King.
Fair Sir, God save you. Where's the Princess?
Boyet.
Gone to her Tent.
Please it your Majesty, command me any service to her?
-- 163 --
King.
That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
Boyet.
I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.
[Exit.
Biron.
This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas;
And utters it again, when Jove doth please:
He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares
At wakes and wassals, meetings, markets, fairs:
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This Gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.
He can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he,
That kist away his hand in courtesie;
This is the ape of form, Monsieur the nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms: nay, he can sing
A mean most mainly; and, in ushering,
Mend him who can; the ladies call him sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.
This is the flower, that smiles on every one,(47) note
To shew his teeth, as white as whale his bone.—
-- 164 --
And consciences, that will not not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongu'd Boyet.
King.
A blister on his sweet tongue with my heart,
That put Armado's Page out of his Part!
Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Catharine, Boyet, and attendants.
Biron.
See, where it comes; behaviour, what wert thou,
'Till this man shew'd thee? and what art thou now?
King.
All hail, sweet Madam, and fair time of day!
Prin.
Fair in all hail is foul, as I conceive.
King.
Construe my speeches better, if you may.
Prin.
Then wish me better, I will give you leave.
King.
We come to visit you, and purpose now
To lead you to our Court; vouchsafe it then.
Prin.
This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow:
Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men.
King.
Rebuke me not for That, which you provoke;
The vertue of your eye must break my oath.
-- 165 --
Prin.
You nick-name virtue; vice you should have spoke:
For virtue's office never breaks mens troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unsully'd lilly, I protest,
A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest:
So much I hate a breaking cause to be
Of heav'nly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
King.
O, you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
Prin.
Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;
We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game.
A mess of Russians left us but of late.
King
How, Madam? Russians?
Prin.
Ay, in truth, my lord;
Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.
Rosa.
Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord:
My lady (to the manner of the days)
In courtesie gives undeserving praise.
We four, indeed, confronted were with four,
In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
Biron.
This jest is dry to me. Fair, gentle, sweet,
Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light; your capacity
Is of that nature, as to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Rosa.
This proves you wise and rich; for in my eye—
Biron.
I am a fool, and full of poverty.
Rosa.
But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
Biron.
O, I am yours, and all that I possess.
Rosa.
All the fool mine?
Biron.
I cannot give you less.
Rosa.
Which of the vizors was it, that you wore?
-- 166 --
Biron.
Where? when? what vizor? why demand you this?
Rosa.
There, then, that vizor, that superfluous Case,
That hid the worse, and shew'd the better face.
King.
We are descried; they'll mock us now down-right.
Dum.
Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.
Prin.
Amaz'd, my lord? why looks your Highness sad?
Rosa.
Help, hold his brows, he'll swoon: why look you pale?
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
Biron.
Thus pour the stars down plagues for Perjury.
Can any face of brass hold longer out?
Here stand I, lady, dart thy skill at me;
Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout,
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance,
Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O! never will I trust to speeches pen'd,
Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue;
Nor never come in vizor to my friend,
Nor woo in rhime like a blind harper's song;
Taffata-phrases, silken terms precise,
Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation.
Figures pedantical, these summer-flies,
Have blown me full of maggot ostentation,
I do forswear them; and I here protest,
By this white glove, (how white the hand, God knows!)
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be exprest
In russet yeas, and honest kersie noes:
And to begin, wench, so God help me, law,
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Rosa.
Sans, sans, I pray you.
Biron.
Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick.
I'll leave it by degrees: soft, let us see;
-- 167 --
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lyes;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are visited, you are not free;
For the lord's tokens on you both I see.
Prin.
No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us.
Biron.
Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.
Rosa.
It is not so; for how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?
Biron.
Peace, for I will not have to do with you.
Rosa.
Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
Biron.
Speak for your selves, my wit is at an end.
King.
Teach us, sweet Madam, for our rude transgression
Some fair excuse.
Prin.
The fairest is confession.
Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd?
King.
Madam, I was.
Prin.
And were you well advis'd?
King.
I was, fair Madam.
Prin.
When you then were here,
What did you whisper in your lady's ear?
King.
That more than all the world I did respect her.
Prin.
When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.
King.
Upon mine honour, no.
Prin.
Peace, peace, forbear:
Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.
King.
Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.
Prin.
I will, and therefore keep it. Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear?
Rosa.
Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear
As precious eye sight; and did value me
Above this world; adding thereto moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
Prin.
God give thee joy of him! the noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.
-- 168 --
King.
What mean you, Madam? by my life, my troth,
I never swore this lady such an oath.
Rosa.
By heav'n, you did; and to confirm it plain,
You gave me this: but take it, Sir, again.
King.
My faith, and this, to th' Princess I did give;
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.
Prin.
Pardon me, Sir, this jewel did she wear:
And lord Biron, I thank him, is my Dear,
What? will you have me? or your pearl again?
Biron.
Neither of either: I remit both twain.
I see the trick on't; here was a consent,
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment)
To dash it like a Christmas comedy.
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,
That smiles his cheek in jeers, and knows the trick(48) note
To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd,
Told our intents before; which once disclos'd,
The ladies did change Favours, and then we,
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she:
Now to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn, in will and error.
Much upon this it is.—And might not You
[To Boyet.
Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by th' squier,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye,
And stand between her back, Sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our Page out: go, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shrowd.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye
Wounds like a leaden sword.
Boyet.
Full merrily
Hath this brave Manage, this Career, been run.
Biron.
Lo, he is tilting strait. Peace, I have done.
-- 169 --
Enter Costard.
Welcome, pure wit, thou partest a fair fray.
Cost.
O lord, Sir, they would know
Whether the three Worthies shall come in, or no.
Biron.
What, are there but three?
Cost.
No, Sir, but it is vara fine;
For every one pursents three.
Biron.
And three times thrice is nine?
Cost.
Not so, Sir, under correction, Sir; I hope, it
is not so.
You cannot beg us, Sir; I can assure you, Sir, we know
what we know: I hope, three times thrice, Sir—
Biron.
Is not nine.
Cost.
Under correction, Sir, we know whereuntil it
doth amount.
Biron.
By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.
Cost.
O lord, Sir, it were pity you should get your
living by reckoning, Sir.
Biron.
How much is it?
Cost.
O lord, Sir, the parties themselves, the actors,
Sir, will shew whereuntil it doth amount; for my own
part, I am, as they say, but to perfect one man in
one poor man, Pompion the Great, Sir.
Biron.
Art thou one of the Worthies?
Cost.
It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion
the Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree
of the Worthy; but I am to stand for him.
Biron.
Go bid them prepare.
Cost.
We will turn it finely off, Sir, we will take
some care.
King.
Biron, they will shame us; let them not approach.
[Exit Cost.
Biron.
We are shame-proof, my lord; and 'tis some policy
To have one Show worse than the King's and his Company.
King.
I say, they shall not come.
Prin.
Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now;
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how.
-- 170 --
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Dies in the zeal of that which it presents;
Their form, confounded, makes most form in mirth;
When great things, labouring, perish in their birth.
Biron.
A right description of our sport, my lord.
Enter Armado.
Arm.
Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy
royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words.
Prin.
Doth this man serve God?
Biron.
Why ask you?
Prin.
He speaks not like a man of God's making.
Arm.
That's all one, my fair sweet honey monarch;
for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical;
too, too vain; too, too vain: but we will put it, as
they say, to fortuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace
of mind, most royal cupplement.
King.
Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies:
he presents Hector of Troy, the swain Pompey
the Great, the parish-curate Alexander, Armado's page
Hercules, the pedant Judas Machabeus.
And if these four Worthies in their first Show thrive,
These four will change habits, and present the other five.
Biron.
There are five in the first Show.
King.
You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.
Biron.
The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy.
A bare throw at Novum, and the whole world again
Cannot prick out five such, take each one in's vein.
King.
The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.
Enter Costard for Pompey.
Cost.
I Pompey am &lblank;
Boyet.
You lye, you are not he.
Cost.
I Pompey am &lblank;
Boyet.
With Libbard's head on knee.(49) note
-- 171 --
Biron.
Well said, old mocker: I must needs be
friends with thee.
Cost.
I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the Big.
Dum.
The Great.
Cost.
It is Great, Sir; Pompey, surnam'd the Great;
That oft in field, with targe and shield,
Did make my foe to sweat:
And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance;
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet Lass of France.
If your ladyship would say, “thanks, Pompey, I had done.
Prin.
Great thanks, great Pompey.
Cost.
'Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was
perfect. I made a little fault in great.
Biron.
My hat to a half-penny, Pompey proves the
best Worthy.
Enter Nathaniel for Alexander.
Nath.
When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's Commander;
By east, west, north and south, I spread my conquering might:
My 'Scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander.
Boyet.
Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.
Biron.
Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender smelling Knight.
Prin.
The Conqueror is dismaid: proceed, good Alexander.
Nath.
When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's Commander.
Boyet.
Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.
Biron.
Pompey the Great,—
Cost.
Your servant and Costard.
Biron.
Take away the Conqueror, take away Alisander.
Cost.
O Sir, you have overthrown Alisander the Conqueror.
[to Nath.]
You will be scraped out of the painted
-- 172 --
cloth for this; your lion, that holds the poll-ax sitting
on a close-stool(50) note
, will be given to A-jax; he
will be then the ninth Worthy. A Conqueror, and afraid
to speak? run away for shame, Alisander. There,
an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honest
man, look you, and soon dash'd. He is a marvellous
good neighbour, insooth, and a very good bowler;
but for Alisander, alas, you see, how 'tis a little o'erparted:
but there are Worthies a coming will speak
their mind in some other sort.
Biron.
Stand aside, good Pompey.
Enter Holofernes for Judas, and Moth for Hercules.
Hol.
Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus;
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus:
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority;
Ergo, I come with this apology.—
Keep some state in thy Exit, and vanish.
[Exit Moth.
Hol.
Judas I am.
Dum.
A Judas!
Hol.
Not Iscariot, Sir;
Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.
Dum.
Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.
Biron.
A kissing traitor. How art thou prov'd Judas?
Hol.
Judas I am.
Dum.
The more shame for you, Judas.
-- 173 --
Hol.
What mean you, Sir?
Boyet.
To make Judas hang himself.
Hol.
Begin, Sir, you are my elder.
Biron.
Well follow'd; Judas was hang'd on an Elder.
Hol.
I will not be put out of countenance.
Biron.
Because thou hast no face.
Hol.
What is this?
Boyet.
A cittern head.
Dum.
The head of a bodkin.
Biron.
A death's face in a ring.
Long.
The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
Boyet.
The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion.
Dum.
The carv'd-bone face on a flask.
Biron.
St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Dum.
Ay, and in a brooch of lead.
Biron.
Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer;
And now, forward; for we have put thee in countenance.
Hol.
You have put me out of countenance.
Biron.
False; we have given thee faces.
Hol.
But you have out-fac'd them all.
Biron.
And thou wert a lion, we would do so.
Boyet.
Therefore as he is an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude; nay, why dost thou stay?
Dum.
For the latter end of his name.
Biron.
For the Ass to the Jude; give it him. Jud-as, away.
Hol.
This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
Boyet.
A light for monsieur Judas; it grows dark, he may stumble.
Prin.
Alas! poor Machabeus, how he hath been baited!
Enter Armado.
Biron.
Hide thy head, Achilles, here comes Hector in
arms.
Dum.
Tho' my mocks come home by me, I will
now be merry.
King.
Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this.
Boyet.
But is this Hector?
King.
I think, Hector was not so clean timber'd.
-- 174 --
Long.
His leg is too big for Hector.
Dum.
More calf, certain.
Boyet.
No; he is best indu'd in the small.
Biron.
This can't be Hector.
Dum.
He's a God or a Painter, for he makes faces.
Arm.
The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty,
Gave Hector a gift,—
Dum.
A gilt nutmeg.
Biron.
A lemon.
Long.
Stuck with cloves.
Dum.
No, cloven.
Arm.
The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight ye
From morn 'till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower.
Dum.
That mint.
Long.
That cullambine.
Arm.
Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.
Long.
I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against
Hector.
Dum.
Ay, and Hector's a grey-hound.
Arm.
The sweet War-man is dead and rotten;
Sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the bury'd:
But I will forward with my device;
Sweet Royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.
Prin.
Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.
Arm.
I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper.
Boyet.
Loves her by the foot.
Dum.
He may not, by the yard.
Arm.
This Hector far surmounted Hannibal(51) note
.
Cost.
The Party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone;
she is two months on her way.
Arm.
What mean'st thou?
-- 175 --
Cost.
Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the
poor wench is cast away; she's quick, the child brags
in her belly already. 'Tis yours.
Arm.
Dost thou infamonize me among Potentates?
Thou shalt die.
Cost.
Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta, that
is quick by him; and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead
by him.
Dum.
Most rare Pompey!
Boyet.
Renowned Pompey!
Biron.
Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey!
Pompey the huge!
Dum.
Hector trembles.
Biron.
Pompey is mov'd; more Ates, more Ates, stir
them on, stir them on.
Dum.
Hector will challenge him.
Biron.
Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly
than will sup a flea.
Arm.
By the north-pole, I do challenge thee.
Cost.
I will not fight with a pole like a northern
man: I'll slash; I'll do't by the Sword: I pray you,
let me borrow my arms again.
Dum.
Room for the incensed Worthies.
Cost.
I'll do't in my shirt.
Dum.
Most resolute Pompey!
Moth.
Master, let me take you a button-hole lower.
Do ye not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat: what
mean you? you will lose your reputation.
Arm.
Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will
not combat in my shirt.
Dum.
You may not deny it, Pompey hath made the
challenge.
Arm.
Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Biron.
What reason have you for't?
Arm.
The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I
go woolward for penance.
Boyet.
True,(52) note and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for
want of linnen; since when, I'll be sworn he wore
-- 176 --
none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that he
wears next his heart for a Favour.
Enter Macard.
Mac.
God save you, Madam.
Prin.
Welcome, Macard, but that thou interruptest
our merriment.
Mac.
I'm sorry, Madam; for the news I bring
Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father—
Prin.
Dead, for my life.
Mac.
Even so: my Tale is told.
Biron.
Worthies, away; the Scene begins to cloud.
Arm.
For my own part, I breathe free breath; I
have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of
discretion, and I will right my self like a soldier.
[Exeunt Worthies.
King.
How fares your Majesty?
Prin.
Boyet, prepare; I will away to night.
King.
Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.
Prin.
Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide,
The liberal opposition of our spirits;
If over-boldly we have born our selves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord;
An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue:(53) note
-- 177 --
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks,
For my great Suit so easily obtain'd.
King.
The extreme part of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides
That, which long Process could not arbitrate
And though the mourning brow of Progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesie of love,
The holy suit which fain it would convince;
Yet since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purpos'd: Since, to wail friends lost,
Is not by much so wholsome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
Prin.
I understand you not, my griefs are double.
Biron.
Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;
And by these badges understand the King.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul Play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to th' opposed end of our intents;
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,
As love is full of unbefitting strains,
All wanton as a child, skipping and vain,
Form'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye,
Full of straying shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth rowl,
To every varied object in his glance;
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heav'nly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities;
Those heav'nly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make them: therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours. We to our selves prove false,
By being once false, for ever to be true
-- 178 --
To those that make us both; fair ladies, you:
And even that falshood, in it self a sin,
Thus purifies it self, and turns to grace.
Prin.
We have receiv'd your letters, full of love,
Your Favours, the embassadors of love:
And in our maiden council rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesie;
As bumbast, and as lining to the time:
But more devout, than these are our respects,
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.
Dum.
Our letters, madam, shew'd much more than jest.
Long.
So did our looks.
Rosa.
We did not coat them so.
King.
Now at the latest minute of the hour,
Grant us your loves.
Prin.
A time, methinks, too short,
To make a world-without-end bargain in;
No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore, this—
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do ought, this shall you do for me;
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked Hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay until the twelve celestial Signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning.
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this tryal, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deserts;
And by this virgin palm, now kissing thine,
I will be thine; and 'till that instant shut
My woful self up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation,
For the remembrance of my father's death.
-- 179 --
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.
King.
If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest;
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence, ever then, my heart is in thy breast.
Biron.
(54) note
[And what to me, my love? and what to me?
Rosa.
You must be purged too, your sins are rank,
You are attaint with fault and perjury;
Therefore if you my favour mean to get,
A twelve-month shall you spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick.]
Dum.
But what to me, my love? but what to me?
Cath.
(55) note
A wife!—a beard, fair health and honesty;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
Dum.
O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?
-- 180 --
Cath.
Not so, my lord; a twelve-month and a day,
I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say.
Come, when the King doth to my lady come;
Then if I have much love, I'll give you some.
Dum.
I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Cath.
Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.
Long.
What says Maria?
Mar.
At the twelve-month's end,
I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
Long.
I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.
Mar.
The liker you; few taller are so young.
Biron.
Studies my lady? mistress, look on me,
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble Suit attends thy answer there;
Impose some service on me for thy love.
Rosa.
Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks;
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts;
Which you on all estates will execute,
That lye within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And therewithal to win me, if you please,
Without the which I am not to be won;
You shall this twelve-month-term from day to day
Visit the speechless Sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
T'enforce the pained Impotent to smile.
Biron.
To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be, it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
Rosa.
Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
Deaft with the clamours of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns; continue then,
-- 181 --
And I will have you, and that fault withal:
But if they will not, throw away that spirit;
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.
Biron.
A twelve-month? well; befall, what will befall,
I'll jest a twelve-month in an Hospital.
Prin.
Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave.
[to the King.
King.
No, Madam; we will bring you on your way.
Biron.
Our wooing doth not end like an old Play;
Jack hath not Jill; these ladies courtesie
Might well have made our sport a Comedy.
King.
Come, Sir, it wants a twelve-month and a day,
And then 'twill end.
Biron.
(56) noteThat's too long for a Play.
Enter Armado.
Arm.
Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me—
Prin.
Was not that Hector?
Dum.
That worthy Knight of Troy.
Arm.
I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I
am a Votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the
plough for her sweet love three years. But, most-esteem'd
Greatness, will you hear the dialogue that
the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the
owl and the cuckow? it should have follow'd in the
end of our Show.
King.
Call them forth quickly, we will do so.
Arm.
Holla! approach.—
Enter all.
This side is Hiems, winter.
This Ver, the spring: the one maintain'd by the owl,
-- 182 --
The other by the cuckow.
Ver, begin.
The SONG.
SPRING.
(57) note
When daizies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckow-buds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight;
The cuckow then on every tree
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckow!
Cuckow! cuckow! O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmens clocks:
When turtles tread, and rooks and daws;
And maidens bleach their summer smocks;
The cuckow then on every tree
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckow!
Cuckow! cuckow! O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
-- 183 --
WINTER.
When isicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail;
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whit! to-who!
A merry note,
While greasie Jone doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the Parson's saw;
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit! to-who!
A merry note,
While greasie Jone doth keel the pot.
Arm.
The words of Mercury
Are harsh after the Songs of Apollo:
You, that way; we, this way.
[Exeunt omnes.
