The Plays of Shakespeare

Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir.
Arm. Impossible.

Moth. How many is one thrice told?
Arm. I am ill at reckoning: it fitteth the spirit of
a tapster.

Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. Arm. I confess both: they are both the varnish of a complete man.

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three.
Arm. True.

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now, here is three studied ere you'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing horse will tell you.

Årm. A most fine figure!

Moth. [Aside.] To prove you a cypher.

Arm. 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 would take desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh: methinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy. What great men have

been in love?

Moth. Hercules, master.

Arm. Most sweet Hercules!-More authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.

Moth. Samson, 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.

Arm. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson!
I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst
me in carrying gates. I am in love too.
Samson's love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, master.

Arm. Of what complexion?

Who was

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since, but, I think, now 'tis not to be found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard: she deserves well.

Moth. [Aside.] To be whipped; and yet a better love than my master.

Arm. Sing, boy: my spirit grows heavy in love.
Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.
Arm. I say, sing.

Moth. Forbear, till this company be past.

Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA.
Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Cos-
tard safe and you must let him take no delight, nor
no penance; but a' must fast three days a week.
For
this damsel, I must keep her at the park; she is
allowed for the day-woman. Fare you well.

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing.—Maid.
Jaq. Man.

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge.
Jaq. That's hereby.

Arm. I know where it is situate.
Jaq. Lord, how wise you are!
Arm. I will tell thee wonders.
Jaq. With that face?
Arm. I love thee.
Jaq. So I heard you say.
Arm. And so farewell.

Jaq. Fair weather after you.
Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.

[Exeunt DULL and JAQUENETTA. Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere thou be pardoned.

Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach.

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished.

Cost. I am more bound to you than your fellows,

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or for they are but lightly rewarded. one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. Arm. Is that one of the four complexions? Moth. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too. Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love of that colour, methinks, Samson had small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit. Moth. It was so, sir, for she had a green wit. Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and poetical!

Moth. If she be made of white and red,

Her faults will ne'er be known;

For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale white shown:
Then, if she fear, or be to blame,
By this you shall not know;
For still her cheeks possess
Which native she doth owe.

the same,

Arm. Take away this villain: shut him up.
Moth. Come, you transgressing slave: away!
Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast, being
loose.

Moth. No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt to prison.

Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall seeMoth. What shall some see?

Cost. Nay nothing, master Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their words; and therefore I will say nothing: I thank God I have as little patience as another man, and therefore I can be quiet. [Exeunt MoTH and COSTARD. Arm. 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 falsehood) 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 was Samson so tempted, and he had an excellent strength: yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause will not

A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello white and red.

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 armiger is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me some extemporal god of rhyme, for,

I am sure, I shall turn sonnet-maker. Devise wit, write pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio. [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-Another part of the Park. A Pavilion and Tents at a distance.

Enter the PRINCESS of France, ROSALINE, MARIA,
KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, and other Attendants.
Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your clearest
spirits.

Consider whom the king your father sends,
To whom he sends, and what's his embassy:
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the sole inheritor

Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitain, a dowry for a queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When she did starve the general world beside,
And prodigally gave them all to you.

Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise:
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues.
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than you much willing to be counted wise
In spending your wit in the praise of mine.
But now to task the tasker.-Good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame

Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
Till painful study shall out-wear three years,
No woman may approach his silent court:
Therefore to us seem'th it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
Bold of your worthiness, we single you
As our best moving fair solicitor.
Tell him, the daughter of the king of France,
On serious business, craving quick despatch,
Importunes personal conference with his grace.
Haste, signify so much; while we attend,
Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will.

Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. [Exit. Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.Who are the votaries, my loving lords,

That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?
1 Lord. Longaville is one.
Prin.
Know you the man?
Mar. I know him, madam: at a marriage feast,
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized

In Normandy, saw I this Longaville.

A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd;
Well fitted in the arts; glorious in arms:
Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,
Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
It should none spare that come within his power.
Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so?
Mar. They say so most that most his humours know.
Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow.

Who are the rest?

Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd:
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill,
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
And shape to win grace though he had no wit.
I saw him at the duke Alençon's once;
And much too little of that good I saw
Is my report to his great worthiness.

Ros. Another of these students at that time
Was there with him: if I have heard a truth,
Biron they call him; but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch,
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished,
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

Prin. God bless my ladies! are they all in love,
That every one her own hath garnished
With such bedecking ornaments of praise?
Lord. Here comes Boyet.

Prin.

Re-enter BOYET.

Now, what admittance, lord? Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach; And he, and his competitors in oath,

Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady,
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt,
He rather means to lodge you in the field,
Like one that comes here to besiege his court,
Than seek a dispensation for his oath,
To let you enter his unpeopled house.
Here comes Navarre.

[The ladies mask. Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAINE, BIRON, and Attendants.

King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Na

varre.

Prin. Fair, I give you back again; and welcome I have not yet: the roof of this court is too high to be yours, and welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine.

King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.
Prin. I will be welcome then. Conduct me thither.
King. Hear me, dear lady: I have sworn an oath.
Prin. Our lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn.
King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.
Prin. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else.
King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.
Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
I hear, your grace hath sworn out house-keeping:
"Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,
And sin to break it.

But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold :
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,
And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives a paper.
King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. [Reads.

Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire. Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.

Biron. What time o' day?

Ros. The hour that fools should ask.

Biron. Now fair befal your mask!
Ros. Fair fall the face it covers!
Biron. And send you many lovers!
Ros. Amen, so you be none.
Biron. Nay, then will I begone.

King. Madam, your father here doth intimate

The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
Being but the one half of an entire sum,
Disbursed by my father in his wars.

But say, that he, or we, (as neither have)
Receiv'd that sum, yet there remains unpaid

A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which,
One part of Aquitain is bound to us,
Although not valued to the money's worth.
If, then, the king your father will restore
But that one half which is unsatisfied,
We will give up our right in Aquitain,
And hold fair friendship with his majesty.
But that, it seems, he little purposeth,
For here he doth demand to have repaid

An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,

On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,

To have his title live in Aquitain;

Which we much rather had depart withal,

And have the money by our father lent,

Than Aquitain, so gelded as it is.

Dear princess, were not his requests so far

From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding, 'gainst some reason in my breast,
And go well satisfied to France again.

Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name,

In so unseeming to confess receipt

Of that which hath so faithfully been paid,
King. I do protest, I never heard of it;
And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.

Prin.

We arrest your

word.

Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For such a sum from special officers

Of Charles his father.
King.

Satisfy me so.

Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not come, Where that and other specialties are bound: To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

King. It shall suffice me: at which interview, All liberal reason I will yield unto. Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand, As honour, without breach of honour, may Make tender of to thy true worthiness. You may not come, fair princess, within my gates; But here without you shall be so receiv'd, As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart, Though so denied free harbour in my house. Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell: To-morrow shall we visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace!

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place! [Exeunt KING and his train. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart. Ros. Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.

Biron. I would, you heard it groan.

Ros. Is the fool sick?
Biron. Sick at the heart.

Ros. Alack! let it blood.

Biron. Would that do it good?
Ros. My physic says, ay.

Biron. Will you prick't with your eye?
Ros. No point, with my knife.
Biron. Now, God save thy life.
Ros. And yours from long living.
Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Stands back.
Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word. What lady is that
same?
[Coming forward.
Boyet. The heir of Alençon, Rosaline her name.
Dum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.

Long. I beseech you a word.

the white?

Boyet. A woman sometimes, an light.

[Exit.

What is she in

[Coming forward. you saw her in the

Long. Perchance, light in the light. I desire her

Biron. O! you are welcome, sir. Adieu.
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
[Exit BIRON.-Ladies unmask.
Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord:
Not a word with him but a jest.

Boyet.
And every jest but a word.
Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word.
Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board.
Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry!

Boyet.

And wherefore not ships?

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish

the jest?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

Mar.

[Offering to kiss her. Not so, gentle beast.

My lips are no common, though several they be. Boyet. Belonging to whom?

Mar.

To my fortunes and me. Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,

agree.

This civil war of wits were much better used
On Navarre and his book-men, for here 'tis abused.
Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,)
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected.
Prin. Your reason?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair.
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they were
glass'd,

I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin. Come to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd-
Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye
hath disclos'd.

I only have made a mouth of his eye,

By adding a tongue, which I know will not lie.
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st
skilfully.

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of
him.

Ros. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father
is but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?
Mar.

No.

ACT III.

SCENE I.—Another part of the Same.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

SONG. See, my love.

Arm. Warble, child: make passionate my sense of hearing.

[Singing.

Moth. Concolinel· (Amato bene.) Arm. Sweet air!-Go, tenderness of years: take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must employ him in a letter to my love. Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How meanest thou? brawling in French? Moth. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; sigh a note, and sing a note; sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love; sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin belly's doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without these, and make them men of note, (do you note, men?) that most are affected to these.

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience?
Moth. By my pain of observation.

Arm. But 0,-but 0,

Moth. The hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm. Callest thou my love hobby-horse?

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

Arm. Almost I had.

Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart.

Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. A messenger well sympathised: a horse to be ambassador for an ass.

Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the
horse, for he is very slow-gaited: but I go.
Arm. The way is but short. Away!
Moth. As swift as lead, sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?
Moth. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.
Arm. I say, lead is slow.

Moth.

You are too swift sir, to say so:
Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?
Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he :—
I shoot thee at the swain.

Moth.
Thump then, and I flee. [Exit.
Arm. A most acute juvenal; voluble and fair of
grace!

By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face:
Moist-eyed melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd.

Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD.
Moth. A wonder, master! here's a Costard broken
in a shin.

Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come,-thy l'envoy; -begin.

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy! no salve in them all, 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

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I me to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars!

will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live: and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart

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,
Were still at odds, being but three.

There's the moral: now the l'envoy.

Moth. I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again. Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three.

Moth. Until the goose came out of door,

And stay'd the odds by making four.

Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. Arm. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by making four.

A good l'envoy.

Moth. Ending in the goose; would you desire more? Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose,

that's flat.

Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose:
Let me see, a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose.
Arm. Come hither, come hither. How did this
argument begin?

Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin. Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

Cost. True, and I for a plantain: thus came your argument in;

Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought, And he ended the market.

Enter BIRON.

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. [Showing it.
Biron. O! why then, three-farthing-worth of silk.
Cost. I thank your worship. God be wi' you.
Biron. O, stay, slave! I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

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.
[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.-Guerdon

Arm. But tell me; how was there a Costard broken-remuneration! in a shin?

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, Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. Arm. Sirrah Costard, marry, I will enfranchise thee. Cost. O marry me to one Frances?—I smell 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 purgation, and let me be loose.

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee free from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this bear this significant [Giving a letter.] to the country maid Jaquenetta. There is remuneration; for the best ward of mine honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. Moth. Like the sequel, I.—Signior Costard, adieu. [Exit. Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew!

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O! that's the Latin word for three farthings: three farthings, remuneration.-"What's the price of this inkle? A penny.-No, I'll give you a remuneration:" why, it carries it.-Remuneration!-why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word.

[Exit.

Biron. O! And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip;

A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable,
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
Th' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of cod-pieces,
Sole imperator, and great general
Of trotting paritors, (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 witty 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,
Though Argus 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. [Exit.

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