are.

Too much to know is to know nought but fame;
And every godfather can give a name.
King. How well he's read, to reason against
reading!

Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!

Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding. Beroune. The spring is near, when green geese are a breeding.

Dum. How follows that? Berowne. Fit in his place and time. Dum. In reason nothing. Berowne. Something then in rime. King. Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost That bites the first-born infauts of the spring. Berowne. Well, say I am: why should proud summer boast

102

Before the birds have any cause to sing? Why should I joy in an abortive birth? At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows. So you, to study now it is too late, Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. King. Well, sit you out: go home, Berowne: adieu! 110 Berowne. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you :

And though I have for barbarism spoke more Than for that angel knowledge you can say, Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore,

And bide the penance of each three years' day. Give me the paper; let me read the same; And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name. King. How well this yielding rescues thee from

shame!

Berowne. Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of my court. Hath this been proclaimed ?

This article, my liege, yourself must break;
For well you know here comes in embassy
The French king's daughter with yourself to
speak -

A maid of grace and complete majesty
About surrender up of Aquitaine

To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: Therefore this article is made in vain,

Or vainly comes the admired princess hither. King. What say you, lords? why, this was quite forgot.

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Beroune. So study evermore is overshot: While it doth study to have what it would, It doth forget to do the thing it should; And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 'Tis won as towns with fire; so won, so lost. King. We must of force dispense with this decree;

She must lie here on mere necessity.
Berowne. Necessity will make us all forsworn
Three thousand times within this three years'
space;

For every man with his affects is born,

Not by might master'd, but by special grace. If I break faith, this word shall speak for me, I am forsworn on 'mere necessity.' So to the laws at large I write my name;

150

Subscribes,

And he that breaks them in the least degree Stands in attainder of eternal shame:

Enter DULL with a letter, and COSTARD. Dull. Which is the duke's own person?

Suggestions are to others as to me; But I believe, although I seem so loath, I am the last that will last keep his oath. But is there no quick recreation granted? King. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted

16)

With a refined traveller of Spain;

A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
One whom the music of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;
A man of complements, whom right and wrong
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
This child of fancy, that Armado hight,

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For interim to our studies shall relate In high-born words the worth of many a knight From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate. How you delight, my lords, I know not, I; But, I protest, I love to hear him lie, And I will use him for my minstrelsy.

Berowne. Armado is a most illustrious wight, A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight, Long. Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;

And so to study, three years is but short.

190

Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.

Moth. No, no; O Lord, sir, no.

Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender juvenal?

Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior.

10

Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? Moth. Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal?

Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. Arm. Pretty, and apt.

Moth. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty? 21 Arm. Thou pretty, because little.

Moth. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick.
Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master?
Arm. In thy condign praise.

Moth. I will praise an cel with the same praise.
Arm. What that an eel is ingenious?
Moth. That an eel is quick.

30

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. 50 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 ye'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.

Arm. A most fine figure!
Moth. To prove you a cipher.

59

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 outswear Cupid. Comfort me, boy. What great men have been in love?

Moth. Hercules, master.

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

Arm. Of what complexion? Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or 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.

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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. 100 Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!

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

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 the same
Which native she doth owe.

110

A dangerous rime, master, against the reason of white and red.

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. 120

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.

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Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. Cost. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded.

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.

162

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 see

Moth. 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 serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello 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 manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god of rime, for I am sure I shall turn sonneter. Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio. Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The King of Navarre's Park. Pavilion and Tents at a distance.

193

A

Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitaine, 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

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,

10

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 outwear three years,
No woman may approach his silent court:
Therefore to us seemeth 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, 3
On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
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.
Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.
Leit BOYET.

20

42

Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?
First Lord. 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

50

It should none spare that come within his power. Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is 'tso! 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?

Kath. The young Dumaine, a well-accomplish'd youth,

Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd:
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill,
And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 60
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
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:
Berowne 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.

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

Re-enter BOYET.

Prin.

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. Mairy, 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, BEROWNE,

and Attendants.

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King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.

90

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

Berowne. Now fair befall your mask! Ros. Fair fall the face it covers! Beroune. And send you many lovers! Ros. Amen, so you be none. Beroune. Nay, then will I be gone. 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 Aquitaine 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 Aquitaine, And hold fair friendship with his majesty. But that, it seems, he little purposeth, For here he doth demand to have repaid A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, To have his title live in Aquitaine; And have the money by our father lent, Which we much rather had depart withal, Than Aquitaine, 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, 151 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 Aquitaine.

Prin.

We arrest your word. Boyet, you can produce acquittances For such a sum from special officers Of Charles his father.

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140

160

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.
Meantime, 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, in my gates;
But here without you shall be so receiv'd,
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart,
Though so denied fair 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! Exit. Berowne. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.

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Ros. Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.

181

Berowne. I would you heard it groan.

Ros. Is the fool sick!
Berowne. Sick at the heart.
Ros. Alack! let it blood.