SCENE IV.
The Fields.
BIRON.
So much for study,—now for Rosaline—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
wou'd not love!—yes, for her two eyes—how, I
talk! what love her, and never see her! I must devise
some means—let me see—
[A Clown passing along the stage.]
You, Sir! a civil sort of a fellow.
What's your name?
CLOWN.
Clod, Timothy Clod, Sir!
BIRON.
Timothy Clod! Humph! a pretty sort of a
name! you are a very honest fellow; what have
you got under your arm?
CLOWN.
A coat for master Costard, an please your honour.
-- 27 --
BIRON.
Apropos! let's look at it, master Clod?
CLOWN.
Well made, strong, and neat, I assure you, Sir.
BIRON.
You must sell me this, master Timothy. I have
an occasion for it.
CLOWN.
Sell it, Sir! what do you take me for a rogue?
No, no, the Clods, tho' they are simple, are honest,
master.
BIRON.
Honest as the day, master Clod.—But look at
this—(chinks a purse)—this—why for this the
lawyer will sell his honesty; the courtier his sincerity;
and the chambermaid her modesty; thou must
be a very simple swain indeed, if thou knowest not
the virtue of gold.
CLOWN.
Why, to be sure it is tempting, Sir.
BIRON.
Then prithee, Clod, leave thy honesty to shift
for itself—never starve man, by keeping it—here
take this—and help me to uncase.
[Here Biron dresses himself in Costard's Coat.]
CLOWN.
Ha! ha! ha!
BIRON.
What does the fool laugh at?
-- 28 --
CLOWN.
Egad, master, I see your gentility is owing to
your fine cloaths; you look as much like a clown
now as myself; ha! ha! ha!
BIRON.
The Clods, tho' they are simple, are honest.
CLOWN.
Ha! ha! ha! pray, Sir, excuse me—I can't help
laughing you look so much like a fool.
BIRON.
Away to thy trade, to-morrow thou mayest have
thy coat again—nay, no compliments—
CLOWN.
Sir, fare you well—ha! ha! ha!
BIRON.
O! and I, forsooth in love!
I that have been love's whip!
A very beadle to an humourous sigh:
A critick; nay, a night watch constable;
A domineering pedant o'er this boy,
Than whom no mortal more magnificent!
This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,
This senior-junior, giant darwf, dan Cupid,
Regent of love rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Sole imperator, and great general
Of trotting parators! (O my little art)
And I to be a corporal of his file,
And wear his colours! like a tumbler stoop!
What? I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
A woman that is like a German clock,
Still a repairing, ever out of frame,
And never going a-right, being a watch,
But being watch'd, that it may still go right!
-- 29 --
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,
Tho' Argos 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
Of his almighty, dreadful, little might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan;
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.
End of the Second ACT.
-- 30 --
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].
