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Nath. If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear | cludes it. To DULL. Sir, I do invite you too: to love?
you shall not say me nay: pauca verba. Away! the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. Exeunt.
Ah! never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd; Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.
Hol. You find not the apostrophas, 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 horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directed to you? 133 Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, 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, Berowne. Sir Nathaniel, this Berowne is one of the votaries with the king; and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king; it may concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty: adieu.
Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!
Cost. Have with thee, my girl.
Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain Father saith,
SCENE III.-The Same.
Beroune. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitched a toil; defile! a foul word. Well, sit thee down, sorrow! am toiling in a pitch,--pitch that defiles: for so they say the fcol said, and so say I, and I the fool: 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 o' 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
Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. in my throat. By heaven, I do love, and it hath taught me to rime, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rime, 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. Ay me!
Berowne. Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid: thou hast thumped him with thy birdbolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets! King.
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 20
Through the transparent bosom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light; Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep: No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
Beroune. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know.
Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,
The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.
Long. I fear these stubborn lines lack power
O sweet Maria, empress of my love!
Disfigure not his slop.
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace, being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is: Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, Exhal'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is:
If broken, then it is no fault of mine:
This will I send, and something else more plain,
Berowne. This is the liver-vein, which makes For none offend where all alike do dote.
Long. Advancing. Dumaine, thy love is far from charity,
A green goose a goddess; pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend! we are much out o' the way.
Long. By whom shall I send this ?-Company!
Berowne. O most profane coxcomb!
Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber
Berowne. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.
Dum. As upright as the cedar.
Berowne. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.
Dum. On a day, alack the day!
And deny himself for Jove,
Stoop, I say;
Her shoulder is with child.
Enter DUMAINE, with a paper.
Dumaine transform'd: four woodcocks in a dish! And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.
Dum. O! that I had my wish.
Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she
Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision! Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.
That in love's grief desir'st society:
may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
To DUMAINE. And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
What will Berowne say when that he shall hear
O! what a scene of foolery have I seen,
Berowne. Not you to me, but I betray'd by you:
I am betray'd, by keeping company
Soft! Whither away so fast? A true man or a thief that gallops so? Berowne. I post from love; good lover, let me go. Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD.
Jaq. God bless the king! King. What present hast thou there? Cost. Some certain treason. King. What makes treason here? 190 Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. King. If it mar nothing neither, The treason and you go in peace away together. Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read: Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said. King. Berowne, read it over.
Gives him the paper.
Where hadst thou it?
King. Where hadst thou it?
Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. Berowne tears the letter. King. How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it? 200 Berowne. A toy, my liege, a toy your grace needs not fear it.
Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it.
Dum. Picking up the pieces. It is Berowne's writing, and here is his name. Beroune. To COSTARD. Ah! you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame. Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess. King. What?
Beroune. That you three fools lack'd me, fool, to make up the mess;
He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I,
Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA.
A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn,
And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy.
O! if in black my lady's brows be deck'd,
It mourns that painting and usurping hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect;
And therefore is she born to make black fair, Her favour turns the fashion of the days,
For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her are chimney sweepers black. Long. And since her time are colliers counted bright.
King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack.
Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.
Beroune. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, For fear their colours should be wash'd away. King. 'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,
I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
| A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,
For valour, is not Love a Hercules,
King, Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the
Berowne. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords!
Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advis'd,
Long. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by:
Why, universal plodding prisons up
SCENE I.-The King of Navarre's Park.
Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and DULL.
Some entertainment for them in their tents. Berowne. First, from the park let us conduct them thither;
Then homeward every man attach the hand
King. Away, away! no time shall be omittel,
If so, our copper buys no better treasure.
And justice always whirls in equal measure: Light wenches may prove plagues to men for
Hol. Satis quod sufficit.
Nath. I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious; plea sant without scurrility, witty without affection,
Nuth. A most singular and choice epithet. Draws out his table-book. Hol. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes, such insociable and point-devise companions; such rackers of orthography, as to speak dout, fine, when he should say doubt; det, when he should pronounce debt, d, e, b, t, not d, e, t; he clepeth a calf, cauf: half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebour; neigh abbreviated ne. This is abhominable, which he would call abominable, it insinuateth me of insanie: anne intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic.
Nath. Laus Deo, bone intelligo.
Hol. Bone? bone for bene: Priscian a little scratched; 'twill serve.
Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD.
Nath. Videsne quis venit?
Hol. Video, et gaudeo.
Arm. To MOTH. Chirrah!
Hol. Quare chirrah, not sirrah? Arm. Men of peace, well encountered. Hol. Most military sir, salutation. Moth. They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps. 40
Cost. O they have lived long on the almsbasket of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word; for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.
Moth. Peace! the peal begins.
Arm. To HOLOFERNES. Monsieur, are you not lettered?
Moth. Yes, yes, he teaches boys the horn-book. What is a, b, spelt backward with the horn on his head?
Hol. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.
Moth. Ba! most silly sheep with a horn. hear his learning.
Hol. I will repeat them; a, e, i,-
Hol. What is the figure? what is the figure?
I will whip about your infamy circum circa. gig of a cuckold's horn!
Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou should'st have it to buy gingerbread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. O an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but my bastard, what a joyful father would'st thou make me. Go to; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as they say.
Hol. O! I smell false Latin; dunghill for unguem.
Arm. Arts-man, præambula: we will be singuled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the top of the mountain ? Hol. Or mons, the hill.
Hol. Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy gig. Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and
Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.
Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and affection to congratulate the princess at her pavilion in the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon.
Hol. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies. Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some show in the posterior
Hol. Quis, quis, thou consonant?
Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you of this day, to be rendered by our assistance, repeat them; or the fifth, if I.
at the king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman; before the princess, I say, none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies.
Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?
Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit! | snip, snap, quick and home! it rejoiceth my intellect; true wit!
Moth. Offered by a child to an old man; which is wit-old.
Hol. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon : the word is well culled, chose, sweet and apt, I do assure you, sir; I do assure.
Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do assure ye, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy ; I beseech thee, apparel thy head; and among other importunate and most serious designs, and of great import indeed, too, but let that pass; for I must tell thee, it will please his grace, by the world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger, thus, dally with my excrement, with my mustachio: but, sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable: some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world: but let that pass. The very all of all is, but, sweet heart, I do implore secrecy, that the king would have me present the princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antick, or fire-work. Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your assistance.
Hol. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant gentleman, Judas Maccabæus; this swain, because of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules
Arm. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for that Worthy's thumb: he is not so big as the end of his club.
Hol. Shall I have audience? he shall present Hercules in minority: his enter and exit shall be