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.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
