Plays and Poems

Boyet. The heir of Alençon, Katharine her name.
Dum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.
Exit.
Long. I beseech you a word: what is she in
the white?

Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in
the light.

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

Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire
that were a shame.

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?
Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard.
Long. God's blessing on your beard!
Boyet. Good sir, be not offended.
She is an heir of Falconbridge.
Long. Nay, my choler is ended.

She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet. Not unlike, sir; that may be.

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Exit LONGAVILLE.

Berowne. What 's her name in the cap?

To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
His heart, like an agate, with your print impress'd,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride express'd:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight 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,

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Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.
I'll give you Aquitaine, 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,

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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

Boyet.

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You are too hard for me,
Exeunt.

ACT III.

Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
Exit BEROWNE. Ladies unmask.

Mar. That last is Berowne, 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.

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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 us'd
On Navarre and his book-men, for here 'tis abus'd.
Boyct. 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?

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SCENE I.-The King of Navarre's Park.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

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

Concolinel

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 eyelids, 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-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

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle note me?-that most are affected to these. affected.

Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart. Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I 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 you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter.

Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy 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-bec,
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, the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. Moth. Until the goose came out of door, And stay'd the odds by adding 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 adding four. Moth. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose, Would you desire more?

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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 ;

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Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;

And he ended the market.

Arm. But tell me; how was there a costard broken 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

Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew! Exit MOTH.

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?' 'One 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.

Berowne. And I

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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 wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rimes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malecontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
Sole imperator and great general

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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! 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 wightly 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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ACT IV.

SCENE I.-The King of Navarre's Park. Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester.

Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard

Against the steep uprising of the hill?

Boyet. I know not; but I think it was not he. Prin. Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind.

Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
That we must stand and play the murderer in?

For. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice; A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.

Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. 12 For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say no?

O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe!
For. Yes, madam, fair.
Prin.
Nay, never paint me now:
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:
Gives money.

Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
For. Nothing but fair is that which you in-
herit.
Prin. See, see! my beauty will be sav'd by
O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
merit.

A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do 't;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
And out of question so it is sometimes,
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward

One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.

Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.

Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will? Cost. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one Lady Rosaline.

Prin. O! thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of mine.

Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve;
Break up this capon.
Boyet.
I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook; it importeth none here:
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin. We will read it, I swear. 59 Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. Boyet. By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon, and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, rici; which to anatomize in the vulgar-O base and obscure vulgar!—videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the king: why did he come? to see why did he see? to overcome. To whom came he? to the beggar: what saw he? the beggar: who overcame he? the beggar. The conclusion is victory: on whose side? the king's. The captive is enriched: on whose side? the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial on whose side? the king's? no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king, for so stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy loveliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes: for tittles? titles: for thyself? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part.

Thine, in the dearest design of industry,
DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.

Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey;
Submissive full his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play. But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? Food for his rage, repasture for his den.

Mar. A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it.

Boyet. A mark! O! mark but that mark; a mark, says my lady.

Let the mark have a prick in 't, to mete at, if it may be.

Mar. Wide o' the bow-hand! i' faith, your hand is out.

Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.

Boyet. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.

Cost. Then will she get the upshoot 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!

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O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar wit!

When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.

Armado o' the one side, O! 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 | old; and I say beside that, 'twas a pricket that a' will swear!

the princess killed.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer and, to humour the ignorant, call I the deer the princess killed, a pricket.

Nath. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. Hol. I will something affect the letter; for it argues facility.

The preyful princess piere'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing pricket;

Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting.

The dogs did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket;

And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit!
Ah! heavens, it is a most pathetical nit.
Sola, sola!
Shouting within. 150
Exit COSTARD, running.

SCENE II.-The Same.

Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and DULL. Nath. Very reverend sport, truly and done in the testimony of a good conscience.

Hol. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo, the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.

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 deform'd 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,

So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school:

But, omnebene, 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

me by your wit

What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet?

Ilol. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.

Dull. What is Dictynna?

Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. Hol. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more;

And raught not to five weeks when he came to

five-score.

Hol. God comfort thy capacity! I say the allusion holds in the exchange.

Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.

If sore be sore, then Lto sore makes fifty sores one sord. Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but one more L.

Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the exchange, for the moon is never but a month

Nath. A rare talent!

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, But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.

and I am thankful for it.

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you: you are a good member of the commonwealth.

Venetia, Venetia,

Chi non ti vede, non pretia.

The allusion holds in the exchange.

Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! who understandeth thee not, loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.

Dull. 'Tis true indeed: the collusion holds in Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, the exchange. rather, as Horace says in his--What, my soul, verses?

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Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.

Hol. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse: lege, domine.

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