SCENE I.
Navarre. The Palace.
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and 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,
The endeavour of this present breath may buy
That honour, which shall bate his scythe'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 Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art.
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:
-- 378 --
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do,
Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too.
Long.
I am resolv'd: 'tis but a three years fast;
The mind shall banquet, though 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 philosophy2 note.
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,
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, nor sleep3 note.
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.
-- 379 --
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.
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 expresly am forbid4 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 thus, 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 while5 note
Doth falsly blind the eye-sight of his look:
-- 380 --
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 dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed6 note
,
And give him light that was it 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.
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.
7 note
Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame;
And every godfather can give a name.
-- 381 --
King.
How well he's read, to reason against reading!
Dum.
Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding8 note!
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 frost9 note,
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 birth1 note
?
-- 382 --
At Christmas I no more desire a rose,
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows;
But like of each thing, that in season grows.
So you, to study now it is too late,
That were to climb o'er the house t'unlock the gate.
King.
Well, sit you out: go home, Biron; adieu!
Biron.
No, my good lord; I have 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.
-- 383 --
Biron.
A dangerous law against gentility3 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.—
This article, my liege, yourself must break;
For, well you know, here comes in embassy
The French king's daughter, with yourself 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 the 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:
-- 384 --
For every man with his affects is born;
Not by might master'd, but by special grace4 note;
If I break faith, this word shall speak for me,
I am forsworn on mere 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:
Suggestions5 note 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 recreation6 note 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;
7 note
A man of complements, whom right and wrong
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
-- 385 --
This child of fancy, that Armado hight,9Q0248
For interim to our studies, shall relate,
-- 386 --
In high-born words, the worth of many a knight
8 noteFrom tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate9 note.
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 minstrelsy.
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 is but short.
Enter Dull, and Costard, with a letter.
Dull.
Which is the duke's own person1 note
?
Biron.
This, fellow; What would'st?
Dull.
I myself reprehend his own person, for I am
his grace's tharborough2 note: but I would see his own
person in flesh and blood.
-- 387 --
Biron.
This is he.
Dull.
Signior Arme—, Arme,—commends you.
There's villainy 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 having3 note
: God grant
us patience!
Biron.
To hear? or forbear hearing?
Long.
To hear meekly, sir, and 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 manner4 note
.
-- 388 --
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.
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 soft'ring 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, 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 myself 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
called supper. So much for the time when: Now for
-- 389 --
the ground which; which, I mean, I walk'd 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 minnow of thy mirth5 note
,
(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 sweet understanding, a woman. Him, I
(as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me on) have sent to thee, to
receive the meed of punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer,
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 called
which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain) I keep her
as a vessel of thy law's fury; and shall, at the least of thy
sweet notice, bring her to trial. Thine, in all compliments
of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty,
Don Adriano de Armado.
-- 390 --
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 it6 note
.
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 delivered o'er.—
And go we, lords, to put in practice that
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.
[Exeunt.
Biron.
I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.—
Sirrah, come on.
-- 391 --
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 sour cup of prosperity!
Affliction may one day smile again, and 'till then, Sit
thee down, sorrow!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
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 imp7 note
.
Moth.
No, no; O lord, sir, no.
Arm.
How can'st thou part sadness and melancholy,
my tender juvenal8 note
?
Moth.
By a familiar demonstration of the working,
my tough signior?
Arm.
Why tough signior? why tough signior?
Moth.
Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal?
Arm.
I spoke it, tender juvenal, 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, tough9 note.
-- 392 --
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.
Moth.
I am answer'd, sir.
Arm.
I love not to be cross'd.
Moth.
He speaks the mere contrary, crosses love
not him1 note.
Arm.
I have promised to study three years with the
duke.
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 fitteth the spirit of a
tapster.
Moth.
You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir.
Arm.
I confess both; they are both the varnish of
a complete 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 do call, three.
Arm.
True.
Moth.
Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now
here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink: and how
-- 393 --
easy it is to put years to the word three, and study
three years in two words, the dancing horse will tell
you2 note
.
-- 394 --
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 I am 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
court'sy. I think 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.
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.
-- 395 --
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 complexion?
Moth.
Of all the four, or the three, or the two; or
one of the four.
Arm.
Tell me precisely of what complexion?
Moth.
Of the sea-water green, sir.
Arm.
Is that one of the four complexions?
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.
-- 396 --
Arm.
Is there not a ballad, boy, of 3 notethe King and
the Beggar?
Moth.
The world was very 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 digression4 note
by some mighty precedent.
Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took
in the park with the rational hind Costard5 note
; she deserves
well.
Moth.
To be whipp'd; and yet a better love than
my master.
[Aside.
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 be past.
Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta.
Dull.
Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep
Costard safe: and you must let him take no delight,
nor no penance; but a' must fast three days a-week:
-- 397 --
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 myself with blushing.—Maid.
Jaq.
Man.
Arm.
I will visit thee at the lodge.
Jaq.
That's hereby.
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 farewell.
Jaq.
Fair weather after you!
Dull.
Come, Jaquenetta, away 6 note
.
[Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta.
Arm.
Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, 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 punished.
Cost.
I am more bound to you, than your fellows,
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.
-- 398 --
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. 7 note
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 and Costard.
Arm.
I do affect8 note
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'
club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's
rapier. The first and second cause will not serve
my turn9 note; 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; yea, he loveth. Assist me some extemporal
-- 399 --
god of rhime, for, I am sure, I shall turn sonneteer* note.
Devise wit; write pen; for I am for whole volumes
in folio.
Exit.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Before the King of Navarre's Palace.
Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other Attendants.
Boyet.
Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits:
Consider who the king your father sends;
To whom he sends; and what's his embassy:
Yourself, 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,
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 tongues1 note:
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than you much willing to be counted wise
-- 400 --
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 seemeth 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 solicitor:
Tell him, the daughter of the king of France,
On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
Importunes personal conference with his grace.
Haste, signify so much; while we attend,
Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will.
Boyet.
Proud of employment, 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 duke?
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;
2 noteWell 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 3 notematch'd with too blunt a will;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
It should none spare that come within his power.
Prin.
Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so?
-- 401 --
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?
Kath.
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 though he had no wit.
I saw him at the duke Alençon'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.
Re-enter Boyet.
Prin.
Now, what admittance, lord?
Boyet.
Navarre had notice of your fair approach;
And he and his competitors in oath
Were all address'd4 note
to meet you, gentle lady,
-- 402 --
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have 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 it; 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,
5 note
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.
-- 403 --
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?
Ros.
The hour that fools should ask.
Biron.
Now fair befall your mask!
Ros.
Fair fall the face it covers!
Biron.
And send you many lovers!
Ros.
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 the one half of an entire 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 valued to the money'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 demands6 note
,
-- 404 --
On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,
To have his title live in Aquitain;
Which we much rather had depart7 note
withal,
And have the money 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.
Satisfy me so.
Boyet.
So please your grace, the packet is not come,
-- 405 --
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 yourself lodg'd in my heart,
Though 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.
Ros.
I pray you, do my commendations;
I would be glad to see it.
Biron.
I would, you heard it groan.
Ros.
Is the fool sick?
Biron.
Sick at the heart.
Ros.
Alack, let it blood.
Biron.
Would that do it good?
Ros.
My physick says, I.
Biron.
Will you prick't with your eye?
Ros.
Non poynt, with my knife8 note
.
Biron.
Now, God save thy life!
Ros.
And yours from long living!
Biron.
I cannot stay thanksgiving.
[Exit.
Dum.
Sir, I pray you, a word; What lady is that same9 note?
-- 406 --
Boyet.
The heir of Alençon, Rosaline her name.
Dum.
A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well.
[Exit.
Long.
I beseech you, a word; What is she in the white?
Boyet.
A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.
Long.
Perchance, light in the light: I desire her name.
Boyet.
She hath but one for herself; to desire that, were a shame.
Long.
Pray you, sir, whose daughter?
Boyet.
Her mother's, I have heard.
Long.
1 noteGod's blessing on your beard!
Boyet.
Good sir, be not offended:
She is an heir of Faulconbridge.
Long.
Nay, my choler 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.
Katharine, by good hap.
Biron.
Is she wedded, or no?
Boyet.
To her will, sir, or so.
Biron.
You are welcome, sir; adieu!
Boyet.
Farewell 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.
-- 407 --
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.
Too hot sheeps, marry!
Boyet.
And wherefore not ships?
No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips2 note
.
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 be3 note
.
-- 408 --
Boyet.
Belonging to whom?
Mar.
To my fortunes and me.
Prin.
Good wits will be jangling: but, gentles, agree:
The civil war of wits were much better used
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused.
Boyet.
If my observation, (which very seldom lyes)
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 see4 note,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
5 note
To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
-- 409 --
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 glass'd,
Did point out to buy them, along as you pass'd.
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 lye.
Ros.
Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st skilfully.
Mar.
He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.
Ros.
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?
Ros.
Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet.
You are too hard for me6 note
.
-- 410 --
ACT III.
SCENE I.
The Park; near the Palace.
Enter Armado and Moth7 note.
Arm.
Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.
Moth.
Concolinel—8 note
[Singing.
Arm.
Sweet air!—Go, tenderness of years; take
this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him
festinately hither9 note; I must employ him in a letter to
my love.
-- 411 --
Moth.
Master, will you win your love with a
French brawl1 note
?
Arm.
How mean'st thou? brawling in French?
Moth.
No, my compleat master: but to jig off a
tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet2 note,
humour it with turning up your eye-lids; sigh a
note, and sing a note; sometime through the throat,
as if you swallow'd love with singing love; sometime
through the nose, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling
love; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop
of your eyes; with your arms cross'd on your thin
belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands
in your pocket, like a man after the old painting3 note;
and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and
away: These are complements4 note, these are humours:
-- 412 --
5 notethese betray nice wenches—that would be betray'd
without these; and make the men of note, (do you
note men?) that are most affected to these.
Arm.
How hast thou purchas'd this experience?
Moth.
By my penny of observation6 note.
Arm.
7 note
But O,—but O—
Moth.
—the hobby-horse is forgot.
Arm.
Call'st thou my love, hobby-horse?
Moth.
No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt8 note,
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.
-- 413 --
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
without, upon the instant: By heart you love her,
because your heart cannot come by her: in heart you
love her, because your heart is in love with her; and
out of heart you love her, being out of heart that
you cannot enjoy her.
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 sympathis'd; a horse to be
embassador for an ass!
Arm.
Ha, ha; what sayest thou?
Moth.
Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the
horse, for he is very slow-gaited: But I go.
Arm.
The way is but short; away.
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 so9 note
:
Is that lead slow, which is fir'd from a gun?
-- 414 --
Arm.
Sweet smoke of rhetorick!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
I shoot thee at the swain.
Moth.
Thump then, and I flee.
[Exit.
Arm.
A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of grace!
1 noteBy 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 Costard2 note
broken in a shin.
Arm.
Some enigma, some riddle: come,—thy Penvoy;—begin.
Cost.
No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy 9Q02513 note
; no salve in
the male, Sir4 note
: O Sir, plantain, a plain plantain;
no l'envoy, no l'envoy, or salve, Sir, but a plaintain!
Arm.
By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly
thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes
me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, my
stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy,
and the word, l'envoy, for a salve?
-- 415 --
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 it5 note:
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,
Staying the odds by adding four.
-- 416 --
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:
Arm.
Until the goose came out of door,
Staying the odds by adding four.
Moth.
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; ay, 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 the l'envoy.
Cost.
True, and I for a plantain; thus came your
argument in:
Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;
And he ended the market6 note.
Arm.
But tell me; how was there a7 note
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:—
-- 417 --
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 enfranchise thee.
Cost.
O, marry me to one Frances;—I smell some
l'envoy, some goose, in this.
Arm.
By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at liberty,
enfreedoming thy person; thou wert 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; [Giving him money.] for the
best ward of mine honour, is, rewarding my dependants.
Moth, follow.
[Exit.
Moth.
Like the sequel, I8 note
. Signior Costard, adieu.
[Exit.
Cost.
My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony
Jew9 note
!—
-- 418 --
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 inkle? a penny:—1 noteNo, I'll give you a remuneration:
why, it carries it.—Remuneration!—why, it is a
fairer name than French crown. I will never buy
and sell out of this word.
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-farthing-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, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.
-- 419 --
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.
[Gives him money.
Cost.
Guerdon,—O sweet guerdon2 note
! better than
remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most
sweet guerdon!—I will do it, sir, in print3 note
.—Guerdon
—remuneration. 9Q0252
[Exit.
-- 420 --
Biron.
O!—And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have
been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
A critic; nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This wimpled4 note
, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
This signior Junio's giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid5 note
;
-- 421 --
Regent of love-rhimes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malecontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
Sole imperator, and great general
Of trotting paritors6 note,—O my little heart!—
And I to be a corporal of his field7 note
,
-- 422 --
And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!
What? what? I love8 note! I sue! I seek a wife!
-- 423 --
A woman, that is like a German clock9 note
,
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 heaven, one that will do the deed,
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard;
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
-- 424 --
Of his almighty dreadful little might,
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan;
1 noteSome men must love my lady, and some Joan.
[Exit.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
A Pavilion in the Park near the Palace.
Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester.
Prin.
Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?
Boyet.
I know not; but, I think, it was not he.
Prin.
Whoe'er 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 murderer 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 woe!
For.
Yes, madam, fair.
Prin.
Nay, never paint me now;
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
-- 425 --
2 note
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true;
[Giving him money.
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 heresy in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.—
But come, the bow:—Now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
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 part3 note
,
We bend to that the working of the heart:
-- 426 --
As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill4 note
.
Boyet.
Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
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 a lord.
Enter Costard.
Prin.
Here comes a member of the commonwealth5 note.
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 waist mistress, were as slender as my wit6 note
,
One of these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.
-- 427 --
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;
Break up this capon7 note
.
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:
-- 428 --
Break the neck of the wax8 note
, and every one give ear.
Boyet reads.
By heaven, that thou art fair, is most
infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that
thou art lovely: More fairer than fair9 note, beautiful than
beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on
thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous and most illustrate1 note
king Cophetua2 note
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;
Whom overcame he? the beggar: The conclusion is victory;
On whose side? the king's: the captive is enrich'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
-- 429 --
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 thyself? 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.
3 noteThus 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 weather-cock? Did you ever hear better?
Boyet.
I am much deceived, but I remember the stile.
Prin.
Else your memory is bad, going o'er it4 note ere while5 note
.
Boyet.
This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;
A phantasm6 note, a Monarcho7 note
; and one that makes sport
-- 430 --
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 shouldst thou give it?
Cost.
From my lord to my lady.
Prin.
From which lord, to which lady?
Cost.
From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
Prin.
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away8 note
.
-- 431 --
Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day.
[Exit Princess attended.
Boyet.
Who is the shooter 9Q0253? who is the shooter9 note
?
Ros.
Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet.
Ay, my continent of beauty.
Ros.
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!
Ros.
Well then, I am the shooter.
Boyet.
And who is your deer?
Ros.
If we chuse by horns, yourself; come not near.
Finely put on, indeed!—
Mar.
You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
Boyet.
But she herself is hit lower: Have I hit her now?
Ros.
Shall I come upon thee with an old saying,
that was a man when king Pepin 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 1 note
queen Guinever of Britain was a
little wench, as touching the hit it.
-- 432 --
Ros.
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.
[Exeunt Ros. & Kat.
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 mete at, if it may be.
Mar.
Wide o'the bow hand! I'faith, your hand is out.
Cost.
Indeed, a'must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout2 note.
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.
-- 433 --
Armatho o' the one side,—O, a most dainty man!
To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan3 note!
To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a' will swear!—
And his page o' t'other side, that handful of wit!
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
Sola, sola!
[Shouting within.
[Exit Costard.
SCENE II.
4 note
Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Sir Nathaniel.
Nath.
Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the
testimony of a good conscience.
-- 434 --
Hol.
The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood5 note;
ripe as a pomewater6 note, who now hangeth like a jewel
-- 435 --
in the ear of Cælo,—the sky, the welkin, the heaven;
and anon falleth like a crab, on the face of Terra,—
the soil, the land, the earth.
-- 436 --
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.
Dul.
I said, the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas
a pricket7 note
.
-- 437 --
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:
4 note
And such barren plants are set before us, that we thankful should be
(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts that do fructify in us more than he.
-- 438 --
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,
So were there a patch9 note
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 raught not1 note
to five weeks, when he came to five-score.
The allusion holds in the exchange2 note.
-- 439 --
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 pollusion 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 prick'd3 note
a pretty pleasing pricket;
Some say, a sore; but not a sore, 'till now made sore with shooting:
The dogs did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jumps 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 sore L4 note
!
Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but one more L.
Nath.
A rare talent!
-- 440 --
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,
nourished 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 commonwealth.
Hol.
Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall
want no instruction: 5 noteif 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.
Jac.
God give you good morrow, master parson.
Hol.
Master parson,—quasi person6 note
. 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.
Jac.
Good master parson, be so good as read me
-- 441 --
this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent me
from Don Armatho: I beseech you, read it.
Hol.
7 note
Fauste, precor gelidâ 9Q0254 quando pecus omne sub umbrâ
Ruminat,—and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I
may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice;
8 note
—Vinegia, Vinegia,
Chi non te vide, ei non te pregia.
-- 442 --
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?
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 vowed!
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove;
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed.
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:
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.
-- 443 --
Celestial as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong,
That sings the heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue!
Hol.
You find not the apostrophes, and so miss
the accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are
only numbers ratify'd9 note
; but, for the elegancy, facility,
and golden cadence of poesy, caret. 1 noteOvidius Naso
was the man: and why, indeed, Naso; but for
smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? the
jerks of invention? Imitari, is nothing: 2 note
so doth the
-- 444 --
hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse
his rider. But damosella virgin, was this directed
to you?
Jaq.
Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of
the strange queen's lords.
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 desired employment, Biron.
Sir Nathaniel, 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 sweet3 note
; deliver this paper into the royal
-- 445 --
hand of the king; it may concern much: Stay not
thy compliment; I forgive thy duty; adieu.
Jaq.
Good Costard, go with me.—Sir, God save
your life!
Cost.
Have with thee, my girl.
[Exeunt 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
colours4 note. 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 repast5 note) it shall please
you to gratify 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
I will prove 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.
SCENE III.
Enter Biron with a Paper.
Biron.
The king is hunting the deer; I am coursing
myself: they have pitch'd a toil; I am toiling in a
-- 446 --
pitch6 note; 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 her; 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. [Aside.]
Shot, by heaven!—Proceed, sweet
Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt
under the left pap:—I' 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 flows4 note
:
-- 447 --
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 thyself; 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, nor 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. [Aside]
Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, appear!
Long.
Ay me! I am forsworn.
Biron. [Aside.]
Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers8 note
.
King. [Aside.]
In love, I hope; Sweet fellowship in shame!
Biron. [Aside.]
One drunkard loves another of the name.
Long. [Aside.]
Am I the first, that have been perjur'd so?
Biron. [Aside.]
I could put thee in comfort; not by two, that I know:
-- 448 --
Thou mak'st the triumviry, the 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!
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
Biron. [Aside.]
O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:
Disfigure not his slop9 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)
Persuade 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 earthly, thou a heavenly 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;
-- 449 --
If by me broke, What fool is not so wise,
To lose an oath to win a paradise?
Biron. [Aside.]
This is the liver vein1 note, which makes flesh a deity;
A green goose, a goddess: pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend! we are much out o'the way.
Enter Dumain.
Long.
By whom shall I send this?—Company! stay.
[Stepping aside.
Biron. [Aside.]
All hid, all hid2 note, an old infant play:
Like a demy-god here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye.
More sacks to the mill! O heavens, 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 heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron.
By earth, she is not corporal; 3 note
there you lie.
[Aside.
-- 450 --
Dum.
Her amber hair for foul hath amber coted4 note
.
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 I mine too, good Lord!
[Aside.
Biron.
Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good word?
[Aside.
Dum.
I would forget her; but a fever she5 note
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.
-- 451 --
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 so6 note
!
But, alack, my hand is sworn7 note
,
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 even Jove would swear8 note,
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 pain9 note
.
-- 452 --
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.
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 mark'd 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: 9Q0255
You would for paradise break faith and troth;
[To Long.
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
[To Dumain.
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 it1 note
?
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 hypocrisy.—
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me:
[Coming forward.
-- 453 --
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love?
Your eyes do make no coaches2 note
; 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 sonneting.
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 foolery I have 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 knot3 note
!
-- 454 --
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg,
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And critic Timon 9Q0256 laugh at idle toys4 note
!
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 caudle, ho!
King.
Too bitter is thy jest.
Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?
Biron.
Not you by me, but I betray'd to 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 men5 note
, of strange inconstancy.
-- 455 --
When shall you see me write a thing in rhime?
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me6 note
? When shall you hear, that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
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?
Biron.
A toy, my liege, a toy; your grace needs not fear it.
-- 456 --
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 Costard and Jaquenetta.
Biron.
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us embrace!
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?
-- 457 --
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;
She, an attending star8 note
, scarce seen a light.
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 sovereignty
Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek;
Where several worthies make one dignity;
Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek.
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues—
Fye, painted rhetorick! O, she needs it not:
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs;
She passes praise; then 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 heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron.
Is ebony like her? O wood divine9 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 hell1 note
,
-- 458 --
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night;
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well2 note
.
-- 459 --
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.
Her favour turns the fashion of the days;
For native blood is counted painting now:
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints itself 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 wash'd away.
King.
'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,
I'll find a fairer face not wash'd 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.
[Shewing his shoe.
-- 460 --
Biron.
O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
Her feet were too much dainty for such tread!
Dum.
O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies
The street should see as she walk'd 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 devil3 note.
Dum.
Some salve for perjury.
Biron.
O, 'tis more than need!—
Have at you then, affection's men at arms4 note:
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 engenders 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?
-- 461 --
5 noteFrom women's eyes this doctrine I derive:
They are the ground, the book, the academes,
From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.
Why, universal plodding prisons up
The nimble spirits in the arteries6 note;
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 eye7 note?
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself,
And where we are, our learning likewise is.
Then, when ourselves 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,
8 note
In leaden contemplation, have found out
-- 462 --
Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes
Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with?
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 theft is stopp'd9 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 valour, is not love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides1 note
?
-- 463 --
Subtle as sphinx; as sweet, and musical,
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair2 note
;
And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods3 note
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.
-- 464 --
Never durst poet touch a pen to write,
Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs;
-- 465 --
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive4 note
:
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 aught proves excellent:
Then fools you were, these women to forswear;
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 men5 note
;
-- 466 --
Or for men's sake, the authors of these women;
Or women's sake, by whom we men are men;
Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves,
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths:
It is religion, to be thus forsworn:
For charity itself fulfils 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,
-- 467 --
Such as the shortness of the time can shape;
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,
Fore-run 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!—Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn6 note;
And justice always whirls in equal measure:
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
If so, our copper buys no better treasure7 note.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
The Street.
Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, and Dull.
Hol.
Satis quod sufficit8 note.
Nath.
I praise God for you, Sir: your reasons
at dinner have been sharp and sententious9 note
; pleasant
-- 468 --
without scurrility, witty without affection1 note, audacious
without impudency, 9Q0258 learned without opinion, and
strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam
day with a companion of the king's, who is intituled,
nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.
Hol.
Novi hominem tanquam te: His humour is
lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed2 note, his
eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general
behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. 3 note
He
-- 469 --
is too picked, 9Q0259 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-devise4 note
companions; such rackers of orthography, as
to 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 abhominable5 note
, (which he would call abominable)
6 note
it insinuateth me of insanie; Ne intelligis, domine?
to make frantick, lunatick?
Nath.
Laus deo, bone; intelligo.
-- 470 --
Hol.
Bone?—bone, for benè: Priscian a little
scratch'd; 'twill serve.
-- 471 --
Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard.
Nath.
Videsne quis venit?
Hol.
Video, & gaudeo.
Arm.
Chirra!
Hol.
Quare Chirra, not sirrah?
Arm.
Men of peace, well encounter'd.
Hol.
Most military sir, salutation.
Moth.
They have been at a great feast of languages,
and stoln the scraps.
[To Costard aside.
Cost.
O, they have liv'd long on the alms-basket8 note
of words! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee
for a word; for thou art not so long by the head as,
honorificabilitudinitatibus9 note
: thou art easier swallowed
than a flap-dragon1 note.
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.
Hol.
Quis, quis, thou consonant?
-- 472 --
Moth.
The third of the five vowels, if you repeat
them; or the fifth, if I2 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 wit3 note
: 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 infamy4 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 pigeon-egg of discretion.
O, an the heavens were so pleased, that thou
-- 473 --
wert but my bastard! what a joyful father wouldst
thou make me? Go to; thou hast it ad dunghill, at
the fingers' ends, as they say.
Hol.
Oh, I smell false Latin; dunghill for unguem.
Arm.
Arts-man, præambula; we will be singled
from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at
the charge-house5 note on the top of the mountain?
Hol.
Or, mons the hill.
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, chose; 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 you, very good friend:—For
what is inward between us, let it pass:—I do beseech
thee, remember thy courtesy;—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 excrement6 note, 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 secresy,—that the king would
-- 474 --
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 breakings 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 Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment
of time, some show in the posterior of
this day, to be render'd by our assistance,—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.
Nath.
Where will you find men worthy enough to
present them?
Hol.
Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant
gentleman, Judas Maccabæus; this swain, because
of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the
great; 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! so, 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; though few have the grace to
do it.
Arm.
For the rest of the worthies?—
Hol.
I will play three myself.
Moth.
Thrice-worthy gentleman!
Arm.
Shall I tell you a thing?
Hol.
We attend.
-- 475 --
Arm.
We will have, if this fadge not7 note, an antick.
I beseech you, follow.
Hol.
Via8 note, goodman 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 tabor to the worthies, and let them
dance the hay.
Hol.
Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Before the Princess's Pavillion.
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.
Ros.
Madam, came nothing else along with that?
Prin.
Nothing but this? yea, as much love in rhime,
As would be cramm'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.
Ros.
That was the way to make his god-head wax9 note
;
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.
-- 476 --
Kath.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.
Ros.
You'll ne'er be friends, with him; he kill'd your sister.
Kath.
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.
Ros.
What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?
Kath.
A light condition in a beauty dark.
Ros.
We need more light to find your meaning out.
Kath.
You'll mar the light, by taking it in snuff1 note;
Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument.
Ros.
Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark.
Kath.
So do not you; for you are a light wench.
Ros.
Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.
Kath.
You weigh me not,—O, that's, you care not for me.
Ros.
Great reason; for, Past cure is still past care2 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?
Ros.
I would, you knew:
An if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great; be witness this.
-- 477 --
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron:
The numbers true; and, were the numb'ring 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?
Ros.
Much, in the letters; nothing, in the praise.
Prin.
Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.
Kath.
Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
Ros.
'Ware pencils3 note
! How? let me not die your debtor,
My red dominical, my golden letter:
O, that your face were not so full of O's4 note!
Kath.
Pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows5 note
.
Prin.
But what was sent to you from fair Dumain?
Kath.
Madam, this glove.
Prin.
Did he not send you twain?
-- 478 --
Kath.
Yes, madam; and moreover,
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover:
A huge translation of hypocrisy,
Vilely 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 so.
Ros.
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 the week6 note
!
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 that jests!
So portent-like would I o'ersway his state7 note
,
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.
-- 479 --
Prin.
8 noteNone 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.
Ros.
The blood of youth burns not with such excess.
As gravity's revolt to wantonness.
Mar.
Folly in fools bears not so strong a note,
As foolery 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 stabb'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 surpris'd:
Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.
Prin.
Saint Dennis to St. Cupid9 note! What are they,
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.
-- 480 --
Boyet.
Under the cool shade of a sycamore,
I thought to close my 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 overheard what you shall overhear;
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,
That in this spleen ridiculous appears1 note,
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.
Prin.
But what, but what, come they to visit us?
Boyet.
They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus,
Like Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess2 note,
-- 481 --
Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance:
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress; which they'll know
By favours several, which they did bestow.
Prin.
And will they so? the gallants shall be task'd:—
For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd;
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despight of suit, 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.
Ros.
Come on then; wear the favours most in sight.
Kath.
But, in this changing, what is your intent?
Prin.
The 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 counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook; and so be mock'd withal,
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display'd, to talk, and greet.
Ros.
But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?
Prin.
No; to the death, we will not move a foot:
Nor to their penn'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.
-- 482 --
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 mock'd, depart away with shame.
[Sound.
Boyet.
The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the maskers come.
[The ladies mask.
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, disguised like Muscovites; Moth with musick, &c.
Moth.
All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!
Boyet.
Beauties no richer than rich taffata 3 note.
Moth.
A holy parcel of the fairest dames,
[The ladies turn their backs to him.
That ever turn'd their—backs—to mortal views.
Biron.
Their eyes, villain, their eyes.
Moth.
That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views!
Out—
Boyet.
True; out, indeed.
Moth.
Out of your favours, heavenly 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 epithet;
You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes.
Moth.
They do not mark me, and that brings me out.
-- 483 --
Biron.
Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue.
Ros.
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.
Ros.
What would they, say they?
Boyet.
Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
Ros.
Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.
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 this grass.
Boyet.
They say, that they have measur'd many a mile,
To tread a measure with you on this grass.
Ros.
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 do fill up one mile.
Biron.
Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.
Boyet.
She hears herself.
Ros.
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.
Ros.
My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
King.
Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do!
-- 484 --
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these4 note thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.
Ros.
O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'st but moon-shine in the water.
King.
Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change:
Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange.
Ros.
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?
Ros.
You took the moon at full; but now she's chang'd.
King.
Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
The musick plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.
Ros.
Our ears vouchsafe it.
King.
But your legs should do it.
Ros.
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?
Ros.
Only to part friends:—
Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.
King.
More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Ros.
We can afford no more at such a price.
King.
Prize yourselves then; What buys your company?
Ros.
Your absence only.
King.
That can never be.
Ros.
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.
-- 485 --
Ros.
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, (an if you grow so nice,)
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey;—Well run, dice!
There's half a dozen sweets.
Prin.
Seventh sweet, adieu!
Since you can cog5 note, I'll play no more with you.
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.
Kath.
What, was your visor made without a tongue?
Long.
I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
Kath.
O, for your reason! quickly, Sir; I long.
Long.
You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless vizor half.
Kath.
Veal, quoth the Dutchman;—Is not veal a calf?
Long.
A calf, fair lady?
Kath.
No, a fair lord calf.
Long.
Let's part the word.
-- 486 --
Kath.
No, I'll not be your half:
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.
Long.
Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.
Kath.
Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Long.
One word in private with you, ere I die.
Kath.
Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry.
Boyet.
The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor's edge invisible,
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.
Ros.
Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.
Biron.
By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!
King.
Farewel, 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 puff'd out.
Ros.
Well-liking wits6 note 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 countenance quite.
Ros.
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:
-- 487 --
No, point, quoth I; my servant strait was mute.
Kath.
Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
And trow you, what he call'd me?
Prin.
Qualm, perhaps.
Kath.
Yes, in good faith.
Prin.
Go, sickness as thou art!
Ros.
Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps7 note
.
But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.
Prin.
And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Kath.
And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar.
Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.
-- 488 --
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.
Boyet.
8 note
Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud;
-- 489 --
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shewn,
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
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 gear9 note;
And wonder, what they were; and to what end
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'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 ladies1 note.
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain in their own habits.
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?
King.
That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
-- 490 --
Boyet.
I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.
[Exit.
Biron.
This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas2 note
;
And utters it again, when Jove doth please:
He is wit's pedlar; and retails his wares
At wakes, and wassels3 note
, 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 kiss'd away his hand in courtesy;
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 meanly4 note
; 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 one5 note
,
To shew his teeth as white as whale his bone:—
-- 491 --
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.
-- 492 --
King.
A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,
That put Armado's page out of his part!
Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Boyet, and attendants.
Biron.
See, where it comes!—Behaviour, what wert thou6 note
,
'Till this mad man shew'd thee? and what art thou now?
King.
All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!
-- 493 --
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 came 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 virtue of your eye must break my oath7 note
.
Prin.
You nick-name virtue; vice you should have spoke;
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unsully'd lily, 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 heavenly 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.
-- 494 --
King.
How, madam? Russians?
Prin.
Ay, in truth, my lord;
Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.
Ros.
Madam, speak true:—It is not so, my lord;
My lady, (to the manner of these days)
In courtesy, 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 greet8 note
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light: Your capacity
Is of that nature, that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Ros.
This proves you wise and rich; for in my eye,—
Biron.
I am a fool, and full of poverty.
Ros.
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.
Ros.
All the fool mine?
Biron.
I cannot give you less.
Ros.
Which of the vizors was it, that you wore?
Biron.
Where? when? what vizor? why demand you this?
Ros.
There, then, that vizor; that superfluous case,
That hid the worse, and shew'd the better face.
King.
We are descry'd; 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?
-- 495 --
Ros.
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 penn'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 hyperboles9 note
, 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 express'd
In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes:
And to begin, wench,—so God help me, la!—
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Ros.
Sans sans, I pray you1 note.
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;—
-- 496 --
Write2 note
, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lies;
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 do I see.
Prin.
No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us.
Biron.
Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.
Ros.
It is not so; For how can this be true3 note
,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?
Biron.
Peace; for I will not have to do with you.
Ros.
Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
Biron.
Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end.
King.
Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression
Some fair excuse.
-- 497 --
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 broke once, you force not to forswear4 note
.
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?
Ros.
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.
King.
What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth,
I never swore this lady such an oath.
Ros.
By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain,
You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.
King.
My faith, and this, the 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.—
-- 498 --
I see the trick on't;—Here was a consent5 note
,
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment)
To dash it like a Christmas comedy:
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany6 note
,
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,—
That smiles his cheek in years7 note
note
; and knows the trick
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 error8 note
.
Much upon this it is:—And might not you
[To Boyet.
-- 499 --
Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot 9 note
by the 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'd1 note
;
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 straight! Peace; I have done.
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 very 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 us2 note, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we know:
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,—
Biron.
Is not nine.
-- 500 --
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 parfect 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
him3 note.
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 Costard.
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 how4 note
:
-- 501 --
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Dies in the zeal of that which it presents,
There 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 Armado5 note.
Arm.
Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy
royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.
[Converses apart with the King.
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 school-master is exceeding fantastical;
too, too vain; too, too vain: But we will
put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you
the peace of mind, most royal couplement!
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 Macchabæus.
And if these four worthies6 note
in their first show thrive,
These four will change habits, and present the other five.
Biron.
There is five in the first show.
King.
You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.
-- 502 --
Biron.
The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest,
the fool, and the boy:—
A bare throw at novum7 note
; and the whole world again,
Cannot prick8 note out five such, take each one in his vein.
King.
The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.
[Pageant of the Nine Worthies9 note
.
-- 503 --
Enter Costard for Pompey.
Cost.
I Pompey am,—
Boyet.
You lye, you are not he.
Cost.
I Pompey am,—
Boyet.
With libbard's head on knee1 note
.
Biron.
Well said, old mocker; I must needs be
friends with thee.
Cost.
I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed 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.
-- 504 --
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* note.
Biron.
Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender-smelling knight.
Prin.
The conqueror is dismay'd: 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 cloth for this: your lion, that holds his pollax2 note
sitting on a close-stool, will be given to A-jax3 note
;
-- 505 --
he will then be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and
afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander. [Exit
Nath.] 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'er-parted:—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.—
[To Moth.] Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.
Hol.
Judas I am,—
[Exit Moth.
Dum.
A Judas!
Hol.
Not Iscariot, sir.—
Judas I am, ycleped Macchabæus.
Dum.
Judas Macchabæus 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.
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.
-- 506 --
Hol.
I will not be put out of countenance.
Biron.
Because thou hast no face.
Hol.
What is this?
Boyet.
A cittern head4 note
.
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 flask5 note
.
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.
An 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 Macchabæus, how he hath been baited!
-- 507 --
Enter Armado, for Hector.
Biron.
Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector
in arms.
Dum.
Though my mocks come home by me, I
will now be merry.
King.
Hector was but a Trojan6 note in respect of this.
Boyet.
But is this Hector?
Dum.
I think, Hector was not so clean timber'd.
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 lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift,—
Dum.
A gilt nutmeg.
Biron.
A lemon.
Long.
Stuck with cloves7 note.
Dum.
No, cloven.
Arm.
Peace! The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breath'd, that, certain, he would fight, yea8 note,
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,—
Dum.
That mint.
Long.
That columbine.
-- 508 --
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 greyhound.
Arm.
The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet
chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he
breath'd, he was a man—But I will forward with
my device; [To the Princess] 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,—
Cost.
The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is
gone; she is two months on her way.
Arm.
What mean'st thou?
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 whip'd, 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 Ates9 note
;
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.
-- 509 --
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 1 note again.
Dum.
Room for the incensed worthies.
Cost.
I'll do it in my shirt.
Dum.
Most resolute Pompey!
Moth.
Master, let me take you a button-hole lower.
Do you 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, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for
want of linen2 note
: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore
-- 510 --
none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that
'a wears next his heart for a favour.
-- 511 --
Enter Mercade.
Mer.
God save you, madam!
Prin.
Welcome, Mercade;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.
Mer.
I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring,
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father—
Prin.
Dead, for my life.
Mer.
Even so: my tale is told.
Biron.
Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud.
Arm.
For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I
have seen the days of wrong through the little hole
of discretion3 note
, and I will right myself like a soldier.
[Exeunt Worthies.
King.
How fares your majesty?
Prin.
Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
-- 512 --
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 4 note
liberal opposition of our spirits:
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath5 note, your gentleness
Was guilty of it.—Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue6 note
:
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.
King.
The extreme parts of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose7 note
, decides
-- 513 --
That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince8 note
;
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 wholesome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
Prin.
I understand you not, my griefs are double.
Biron.
9 note
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 the 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;
-- 514 --
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 roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which party-coated presence of loose love,
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
1 noteSuggested us to make: Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both, fair ladies, you;
And even that falshood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, 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 courtesy,
As bombast and as lining to the time2 note
:
But more devout than this, in our respects3 note
,
-- 515 --
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.
Ros.
We did not quote them so4 note
.
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,—
-- 516 --
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do aught, 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 trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine,
I will be thine: and, till that instant, shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house;
Raining the tears of lamentation,
For the remembrance of my father's death.
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 rest5 note
,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.
Biron.
6 noteAnd what to me, my love? and what to me?
-- 517 --
Ros.
You must be purged too, your sins are rank7 note;
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?
Kath.
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?
Kath.
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.
Kath.
Yet swear not, lest you 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.
Ros.
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;
-- 518 --
Full of comparisons, and wounding flouts;
Which you on all estates will excute,
That lie 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 wit8 note
,
To 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.
Ros.
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,
Deaf'd with the clamours of their own 9 note
dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
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, befal what will befal,
I'll jest a twelve-month in an hospital 1 note.
-- 519 --
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' courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy.
King.
Come, sir, it wants a twelve-month and a day,
And then 'twill end.
Biron.
That'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 year. But, most
esteemed 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, for the song,
This side is Hiems; winter.
This Ver, the spring; the one maintain'd by the owl,
The other by the cuckow.
Ver, begin.
-- 520 --
SONG.
SPRING.
When daizies pied, and violets blue2 note,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckow-buds3 note
of yellow hue, 9Q0263
Do paint the meadows with delight4 note
,
The cuckow then, on every tree,
Mocks marry'd 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 plowmen's 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 marry'd ear!
-- 521 --
WINTER.
When icicles 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,
To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan 5 note
doth keel the pot.
-- 522 --
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw6 note
,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl7 note
,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Arm.
The words of Mercury are harsh after the
songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this way.
[Exeunt omnes8.
