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 farthings 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, my good knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall intreat.

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:
The Princess comes to hunt here in the park:
And in her train there is a gentle lady;
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
And Rosaline they call her; ask for her,
And to her white hand see thou do commend
This seal'd up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go.

Cost.

Guerdon, O sweet guerdon, better than remuneration, eleven pence farthing better: most sweet guerdon. I will do it, Sir, in print. Guerdon, remuneration.

Biron.
O! and I forsooth in love,

I that have been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh:
A critick; nay, a night-watch constable,
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal more magnificent.
This whimpled, whining, purblind wayward boy,
This Signior Junio, giant dwarf, Dan Cupid,
Regent of love-rimes, lord of folded arms,
Th'anointed Soveraign of sighs and groans:
Leige of all loyterers and malecontents:
Dread Prince of plackets, King of codpieces.
Sole imperator, and great general
Of trotting parators (O my little heart!)
And I to be a corporal of his field,
And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!
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 aright, being a watch,
But being watch'd, that it may still go right.
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 heav'n, one that will do the deed,
Tho' Argus were her eunuch and her guard;
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! go too: 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. [Exit.

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