Arm.

Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

Moth.

Concolinel—^{8 note}

Arm.

Sweet air!—Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither^{9 note}; I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Moth.

Master, will you win your love with a French brawl^{1 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 feet^{2 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 painting^{3 note}; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away: These are complements^{4 note}, these are humours:

^{5 note}these 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 observation^{6 note}.

Arm.

^{7 note}

Moth.

—the hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm.

Call'st thou my love, hobby-horse?

Moth.

No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt^{8 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.

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 so^{9 note}

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 note}By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face:
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd. Re-enter Moth and Costard.

Moth.
A wonder, master; here's a Costard^{2 note}
broken in a shin.

Arm.
Some enigma, some riddle: come,—thy Penvoy;—begin.

Cost.

No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy 9Q0251^{3 note}

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?

Moth.

Doth the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve?

Arm.
No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it^{5 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.

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

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:

Arm.

But tell me; how was there a^{7 note}

Moth.

I will tell you sensibly.

Cost.

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

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.

Arm.
We will talk no more of this matter.

Cost.
'Till there be more matter in the shin.

Arm.
Sirrah, Costard, I will 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.

Moth.

Like the sequel, I^{8 note}

Cost.

My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew^{9 note}

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 note}No, I'll give you a remuneration: why, it carries it.—Remuneration!—why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word.

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.

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;—

Cost.

Guerdon,—O sweet guerdon^{2 note}

Biron.

O!—And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip;

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 paritors^{6 note},—O my little heart!—
And I to be a corporal of his field^{7 note}

And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!
What? what? I love^{8 note}! I sue! I seek a wife!

A woman, that is like a German clock^{9 note}

Of his almighty dreadful little might,
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan;
^{1 note}Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit.

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