SCENE II.
Armado's House.
ARMADO, MOTH.
ARMADO.
Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great spirit
grows melancholy?
MOTH.
A great sign, Sir, that he will look sad.
ARMADO.
Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing,
dear imp.
MOTH.
Indeed!
ARMADO.
Moth!
[pausing.]
MOTH.
Sir!
-- 7 --
ARMADO.
Keep my spirits up, sweet youth! I tell thee, boy,
take away this melancholy, it surfeits my other
senses; I am as it were no better than a lifeless
corpse already.
MOTH.
The world bears many such heavy loads, my
signior; it is a melancholy world, good Sir: he
who wou'd laugh and be merry in it, must so time
his humour, as to be never out of humour.
ARMADO.
How so! child, how so!
MOTH.
As thus; he must affect no wisdom, by saying
such a thing was well done; he must affect no judgment,
by saying, it might have been done better;
nor affect any concern, that it was ill-done: Oh!
this world, this world is a fit habitation but for
few; the good find it base, and the base make it so.
ARMADO.
Enough, sweet boy, of this moral refinement.
Moth! have not I promised to study three years
with the king?
MOTH.
You may do it in an hour, Sir.
ARMADO.
What?
MOTH.
Why, break your oath, signior.
ARMADO.
Well, I will hereupon confess, I am in love;
and as it is base for a soldier to love; so am I 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 wou'd take
-- 8 --
desire prisoner; and ransom him to any French
courtier for a new devised curtsie. I think it scorn
to sigh, methinks, I should outswear Cupid. Comfort
me, boy! what great men have been in love?
MOTH.
Hercules, master.
ARMADO.
Most sweet Hercules! more authority, dear boy,
name more! and, sweet my child, let them be 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.
ARMADO.
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 in love with, my dear Moth?
MOTH.
A woman, master.
ARMADO.
Of what complexion?
MOTH.
Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one
of the four.
ARMADO.
Tell me, precisely, of what complexion?
MOTH.
Of the sea-water green, Sir.
ARMADO.
Is that one of the four complexions?
MOTH.
As I have read, Sir, and the best of them too.
-- 9 --
ARMADO.
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.
ARMADO.
Ha! ha! ha! 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!—But, prithee boy, hear me out,
while my humour lasts; well! great men have been
in love; I am in love, therefore, I am a great man.
—Take courage upon that, Armado; but great
men have ever loved noble women; my love is—
is—
MOTH.
What! what, Sir!
ARMADO.
A country-wench, child!
MOTH.
How! my good master!
ARMADO.
Why, boy, with a prating, mincing, laughing,
lying, kissing Abigail! nothing less than the rosy-finger'd
Jaquenetta—
MOTH.
Jaquenetta!
ARMADO.
Go—seek her out.—My spirit grows heavy in
love, bid her attend me in the grove, and I will
accost her in the true jig of heroic fascination.
-- 10 --
MOTH.
Signior, I obey.—A blinking Cupid cannot miss
the mark.
[Exit.
ARMADO.
I do affect 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 falsely 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 Soloman so
seduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid's
but shaft is too hard for Hercules's club, and
therefore too much odds for a Spanish rapier: the
first and second cause will not serve my turn: the
Passado he respects not, the Duello he regards not;
his disgrace is to be called 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 god of rhyme, for, I
am sure, I shall turn sonnet! Devise wit, write
pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio!
Anon. [1762], The students. A comedy. Altered from Shakespeare's Love's Labours Lost, and Adapted to the stage (Printed for Thomas Hope [etc.], London) [word count] [S31500].
