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.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
