Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, -thy || rance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing l'envoy; begin. Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain! Arm. 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! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy, and the word, l'envoy, for a salve? Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve? Arm. No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it: The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, There's the moral: Now the l'envoy. Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Moth. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; Would you desire more? Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat: but this: Bear this significant to the country-maid Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony2 Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin. Enter Biron. Biron. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met. Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon me; how was there a Costard Moth. I will tell you sensibly. Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that l'envoy: I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. some l'envoy, some goose, in this. Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound. Cost. True, true; and now you will be my pur- gation, and let me loose. (1) An old French term for concluding verses, which served either to convey the moral, or to address the poem to some person. (2) Delightful. (3) Reward. Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: Fare you well. morning. Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, 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. [Gives him money. Cost. Guerdon,-O sweet guerdon! better than remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most sweet guerdon!-I will do it, sir, in print.4-Guerdon-remuneration. [Exit. Biron. O! And I, forsooth, in love! I, that (4) With the utmost exactness. (6) Petticoats. (7) The officers of the spiritual courts who serve citations. SCENE I.-Another part of the same. Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill? lady Rosaline. of mine: Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend Boyet. I am bound to serve.- This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; We will read it, I swear: Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he. mind. say, no? O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for wo! Prin. Nay, never paint me now; Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true; [Giving him money. Fair payment for foul words is more than due. For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. heresy in fair, fit for these days! A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. reignty Only for praise sake, when they strive to be Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford To any lady that subdues a lord. truth itself, that thou art lovely: More fairer than Thine, in the dearest design of industry. Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar this letter? : : Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps || When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it here in court; A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport To the prince, and his book-mates. Prin. Who gave thee this letter? Cost. Thou, fellow, a word: I told you; my lord. Prin. To whom should'st thou give it? Cost. From my lord to my lady. Prin. From which lord, to which lady? Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline. Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away. Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day. [Exit Princess and Train. Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor? Shall I teach you to know? Ros. Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. Ros. Finely put off! Why, she that bears the bow. Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou Boyet. But she herself is hit lower: Have I hit her now? Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old say ing, that was a man when king Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it? Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it. Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it. [Singing. Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, [Exeunt Ros. and Kath. Cost. By my troth, most pleasant! how both did fit it! were, so fit. Armatho o' the one side, -0, a most dainty man! To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan! To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a' will swear! Nath. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience. Hol. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis, blood; ripe as a pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of cœlo, the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab, on the face of terra, -the soil, the land, the earth. 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. Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. Hol. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus! O thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look! Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of 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; 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. For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool, in a school: So, were there a patch2 set on learning, to see him 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, is out. What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er five weeks old as yet? hit the clout. Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your hand is in. Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the pin. Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips grow foul. Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge her to bowl. Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; Good night, my good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Maria. Cost. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! Lord, lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar wit! (1) A species of apple. (2) A low fellow. Hol. Dictynna, good man Dull; Dictynna, good man Dull. and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin-Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal eyes; Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. Where all those pleasures live, that art would comprehend: Hol. I will something affect the letter; for it argues facility. If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; The praiseful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty Well learned is that tongue, that well can thec commend: : ! pleasing pricket; Some say, a sore; but not a sore, till now made The dog's did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jumps Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall a If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores; O sore L! 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: if 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. Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person. Hol. Master parson, quasi pers-on. And if one should be pierced, which is the one? Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, 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. Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armatho: I beseech you, read it. Hol. Fauste, precor gelidâ quando pecus omne sub umbra. Ruminat, and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice: Vinegia, Vinegia, Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia. 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? 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 music, and sweet fire. Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, That sings 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 ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man and why, indeed, Naso; but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari, is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horsel his rider.-But damosella virgin, was this directed to you? Jag. 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, Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain ed, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention: 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, [To Dull.] I do invite you too; you shall not say me, nay: pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to our re[Exeunt. Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty creation vowed! (1) Horse adorned with ribbands. (2) In truth. Y : : SCENE III.-Another part of the same. Enter These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. Biron, with a paper. Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil; I am toiling in a pitch; pitch that defiles; defile! a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so, they Biron. [Aside.] O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose: This same shall go. [He reads the sonnet. say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye Well proved, wit! By the lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: Well proved again on my side! 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 would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in: Here comes one with a paper; God give him grace to groan! [Gets up into a tree. Enter the King, with a paper. King. Ah me! Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven!-Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap:-I'faith secrets. King. [Reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, And they thy glory through thy grief will show : But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep Enter Longaville, with a paper. Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, ap[Aside. pear! ing papers. Long. Ah me! I am forsworn. Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so? by two, that I know: Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of so- Long. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move: (1) Outstripped, surpassed. ('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,) My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is : Biron. [Aside.] This is the liver vein, which A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. the way. Enter Dumain, with a paper. Long. By whom shall I send this?-Company! [Stepping aside. Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play: stay. Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky, O most profane coxcomb! [Aside. Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. Biron. A fever in your blood, why, then inciWould let her out in saucers; Sweet misprision! [Aside. Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary Love, whose month is ever May, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. |