And I will wish thee never more to dance, Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, I do forswear them: and I here protest, By this white glove, (how white the hand, God Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd I see the trick on't;-Here was a consent zany, Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some [To Boyet. Yet I have a trick And laugh upon the apple of her eye ? Of the old rage: -bear with me, I am sick; Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three; For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us. What did you whisper in your lady's ear? And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, You put our page out: Go, you are allow'd; Boyet. done. Enter Costard. Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray. No, sir; but it is vara fine, And three times thrice is nine. Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope, it is not so: You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,- Is not nine. King. That more than all the world I did respect it doth amount. Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. her. Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will re- King. Upon mine honour, no. Peace, peace, forbear; Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. Ros. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my I never swore this lady such an oath. King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give; Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir. Biron. How much is it? Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man, c'en one poor man; Pompion the great, sir. Biron. Art thou one of the worthies? Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of Pompion the great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of the worthy: but I am to stand for him. Biron. Go, bid them prepare. Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take [Exit Costard. King. Birón, they will shame us, let them not approach. some care. Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord: and 'tis To have one show worse than the king's and his Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you That sport best pleases, that doth least know how: Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thyroyal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [Armado converses with the King, and delivers him a paper. Prin. Doth this man serve God? Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Ali- Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Alisander. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey Alisander the conqueror? You will be scraped out monarch: for, I protest, the school-master is excecding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal A-jax, he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, couplement! [Erit Armado, and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisan King. Here is like to be a good presence of wor- der. [Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you thies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Machabæus. And if these four worthies soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, in sooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander, alas, you see, how 'tis;-a little o'erparted:a coming will speak their But there are worthies in their first show thrive, mind in some other sort. These four will change habits, and present the other five. Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter Holofernes arm'd, for Judas, and Moth Hol. Great Hercules is s presented present by this imp, canus; And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus: Dum. A Judas! Hol. Not Iscariot, sir. Judas I am, ucleped Machabæus. Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas. Judas? dark, he may stumble. Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been baited! Enter Armado arm'd, for Hector. Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms. Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry. King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. Boyet. But is this Hector? Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd. Long. His leg is too big for Hector. Dum. More calf, certain. Boyet. No; he is best indued in the small. Biron. This cannot be Hector. Dum. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces. Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the al mighty, Gave Hector a gift Dum. A gilt nutmeg Biron. A lemon. Long. Stuck with cloves. Dum. No, cloven. Arm. Peace. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion; Pompey! Pompey the huge! Dum. Hector trembles. Biron. Pompey is mov'd:-More Ates, more Ates; stir them on! stir them on ! Dum. Hector will challenge him. Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea. Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword:-I pray you, let me borrow my arms again. Dum. Room for the incensed worthies. Dum. Most resolute Pompey! Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? you will lose your reputation. Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me: I will not combat in my shirt. Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge. Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance. Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jacquenetta's; and that 'a wears next his heart, for a favour. Enter Mercade. Mer. God save you, madam! Prin. Welcome, Mercade; But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father From morn till night, out of his pavilion. I am that flower, Dum. Long. That mint. That columbine. Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector. Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breath'd, he was a man-But I will forward with my device: Sweet royalty, [to the Princess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing. [Biron whispers Costard. Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much de- Dum. He may not by the yard. Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Prin. Dead, for my life. Mer. Even so; my tale is told. Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your majesty? lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, gone; she is two months on her way. Arm. What meanest thou ? Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, King. The extreme parts of time extremely form the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the All causes to the purpose of his speed; Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among poten-That which long process could not arbitrate: Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jacque- Forbid the smiling courtesy of love, netta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pom- The holy suit which fain it would convince; Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great, Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, (1) Lance-men. (2) Até was the goddess of discord. (3) A clown. (4) Clothed in wool, without linen. (5) Free to excess. As to rejoice at friends but newly found. Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear And by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain; To those that make us both: -fair ladies, you: Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. long. Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young. Prin. We have receiv'd your letters full of love; Impose some service on me for thy love. Your favours the embassadors of love; And, in our maiden council, rated them But more devout than this, in our respects, Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest. Long. So did our looks. Ros. Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón, To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day We did not quote them so. Visit the speechless sick, and still converse King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves. A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in: Change not your offer made in heat of blood; Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts, For the remembrance of my father's death. King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,- Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave: I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? It should have followed in the end of our show. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Arm. Holla! approach. Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, and others. Cuckoo, cuckoo,-0 word of fear, Unpleasing to a married earl III. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's In this play, which all the editors have concurred to censure, and some have rejected as unworthy of our poet, it must be confessed that there are many passages mean, childish, and vulgar: and clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, some which ought not to have been exhibited, as And maidens bleach their summer we are told they were, to a maiden queen. But smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he, Cuckoo; there are scattered through the whole many sparks of genius; nor is there any play that has more evident marks of the hand of Shakspeare. JOHNSON. |