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,

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?

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.

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?

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.

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

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.

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,

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.

Scene 2 SCENE, the PARK; near the Palace. Enter Armado and Moth.

Arm.

Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

Moth.

Concolinel—

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

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,

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.

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.

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.

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.—

Moth.

Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

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.

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.—

Biron.
O! and I, forsooth, in love!
I, that have been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh:

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

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.

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