SCENE III.
JAQUENETTA, COSTARD.
JAQUENETTA.
A word with you, Sir!
COSTARD.
It is forbid.
-- 24 --
JAQUENETTA.
Turn man! what are you asham'd to face a woman?
COSTARD.
Marry, that is forbid too.
JAQUENETTA.
This is certainly one of the king's fools—Why,
you jackanapes—do you pretend to be a philosopher?
COSTARD.
Ay marry, and a wife one! I am a man of parts
forsooth—that is, I mean, I shall be after I have
studied here three years.
JAQUENETTA.
That is, you mean, you are a fool now, and will
be an ass then.—A man of parts indeed! and afraid
to turn to a woman.—
COSTARD.
This is some impudent jade I'll warrant you;
but I will not be catch'd so neither.—What's your
name, mistress?
JAQUENETTA.
Jaquenetta, dainty Sir!
COSTARD.
And well, what's your business?
JAQUENETTA.
My business, sweet modest Sir, is with the king
your master: the princess purposes to leave this
court early to-morrow morning, and therefore begs
a last conference with the king some time this evening,
as may best suit his majesty's studious disposition:
these are her instructions—will you deliver
them?
-- 25 --
COSTARD.
I shall obey—give them to me—but touch me
not.
JAQUENETTA.
Touch thee! thou delicate creature—touch
thee!
[As she gives him the paper, she takes hold of his hand, &c.]
COSTARD.
Oh! oh! I shall be hanged! I shall be buried
alive! oh!
JAQUENETTA.
Why don't you take the paper?
COSTARD.
O thou wicked jade! thou hast ruined poor
Costard for ever!—But I have a great mind to
peep at her, however, now.
[Aside.]
JAQUENETTA.
Ruined! well, I have so much compassion for
you—if thou art to be hang'd, I'll buy the rope
for thee.
COSTARD.
I will venture.
[Aside.]
JAQUENETTA.
What's the fellow muttering?
COSTARD.
She is a fine wench.
[Aside.]
JAQUENETTA.
What would the rogue be at?
COSTARD.
Heigh ho!
-- 26 --
JAQUENETTA.
The man is certainly mad.
COSTARD.
Well, Jaquenetta:—one peep more,—so now, I
will forgive thee this time—but remember if poor
Costard is to be hang'd, you were his disgrace.
[Turning and looking at her, as he goes out.]
JAQUENETTA.
The poor, simple fool!
[Exit.
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].
