Love’s Labour’s Lost is generally labelled an ‘early comedy’ along with The Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Taming of the Shrew and The Comedy of Errors. The four plays show Shakespeare at the beginning of his career experimenting with a range of materials and moods including romantic intrigue, classical farce and traditional folktale. Unlike the other three plays in this category, Love’s Labour’s Lost does not have a readily identifiable narrative or dramatic source, though affinities have been discerned with both literary and real-life accounts of courtly activities. Its presentation of Rosaline as a ‘dark’ heroine has encouraged some readers to speculate on possible connections with the narrative recounted in Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Somewhat blighted by its reputation as a ‘topical’ play, it is perhaps more often performed than studied today.
The 1598 First Quarto of the play is the earliest dramatic text to have ‘by W. Shakespeare’ on its title-page. Love’s Labour’s Lost is described as ‘a pleasant conceited comedy’ and we are informed that it was ‘presented before her Highness this last Christmas’. The title-page further claims that the text is ‘newly corrected and augmented’, implying that it was written and performed somewhat earlier than 1598, and perhaps that a previous edition, now lost, had been published. It is listed by Francis Meres (along with the mysterious Love’s Labour’s Won) as one of Shakespeare’s comedies in his Palladis Tamia (also 1598), but it is usually dated 1594-5, mainly on internal evidence. It was revived in 1604 for performance at Court before Queen Anne. Some inconsistencies in the narrative, confusion over characters’ names and repetition of dialogue in this text seem to indicate that it was printed from Shakespeare’s working manuscript.
The phrase ‘conceited comedy’ is in this case an appropriate designation of a play whose verbal wit and ingenuity must have dazzled its original audiences and can occasionally baffle modern ones. Not only the supposedly sophisticated courtiers but also the lower-class characters play endlessly with language, achieving effects which can be brilliant, pedantic or bathetic, but are very frequently connected with obscenity. This has been one cause of the play’s relative unpopularity, though recent productions have shown that it can work well on stage as a lively and quite acerbic courtship comedy. Some of the wordplay does seem to be topical – the play is self-conscious about what Moth refers to as ‘a great feast of languages’ (5.1.35–6) – but broader attempts to find historical models for the characters and situations are now widely discounted.
The play’s title reflects its unconventional ending: in the short term at least the male lovers (with the surprising exception of Armado) have lost their labour in so far as they have not won the women. The closing songs are enigmatic, particularly in raising the threat of infidelity even before marriage is assured. A modern emphasis on the darker aspects of the play has taken more seriously such things as the breaking of vows, the cruelty of the courtiers to the amateur actors and the intrusion of death at the end. At the same time Berowne and Rosaline as sparring partners have appealed to actors and audiences as prototypes of Benedick and Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, and talented performers have proved that the comedy of Don Armado and Holofernes is still not past its sell-by date.
The 1998 Arden text is based on the 1598 First Quarto, with reference in some places to the 1623 First Folio.
KING Ferdinand of Navarre |
|
|
|
||
BOYET |
|
a lord attending the Princess |
Monsieur MARCADÉ |
|
a messenger |
Don Adriano de ARMADO |
|
a Spanish knight and braggart |
MOTH |
|
his page, a boy |
HOLOFERNES |
|
a schoolmaster |
NATHANIEL |
|
a curate |
Anthony DULL |
|
a constable |
COSTARD |
|
a clown |
JAQUENETTA |
|
a dairymaid |
FORESTER |
|
|
LORDS |
|
attending the Princess |
Blackamoors and others attending the King |
||
KING Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, |
|
Live registered upon our brazen tombs, |
|
And then grace us in the disgrace of death; |
|
When, spite of cormorant devouring time, |
|
Th’endeavour of this present breath may buy |
5 |
That honour which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge, |
|
And make us heirs of all eternity. |
|
Therefore, brave conquerors – for so you are, |
|
That war against your own affections |
|
And the huge army of the world’s desires – |
10 |
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force. |
|
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world, |
|
Our court shall be a little academe, |
|
Still and contemplative in living art. |
|
You three, Berowne, Dumaine and Longaville, |
15 |
Have sworn for three years’ term to live with me, |
|
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes |
|
That are recorded in this schedule here. |
|
Your oaths are passed, and now subscribe your names, |
|
That his own hand may strike his honour down |
20 |
That violates the smallest branch herein. |
|
If you are armed to do as sworn to do, |
|
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. |
|
LONGAVILLE I am resolved: ’tis but a three years’ fast. |
|
The mind shall banquet though the body pine. |
25 |
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits |
|
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. |
|
[Signs.] |
|
DUMAINE My loving lord, Dumaine is mortified. |
|
The grosser manner of these world’s delights |
|
He throws upon the gross world’s baser slaves. |
30 |
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die, |
|
With all these living in philosophy. [Signs.] |
|
BEROWNE I can but say their protestation over. |
|
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, |
|
That is, to live and study here three years. |
35 |
But there are other strict observances: |
|
As not to see a woman in that term, |
|
Which I hope well is not enrolled there; |
|
And one day in a week to touch no food, |
|
And but one meal on every day beside, |
40 |
The which I hope is not enrolled there; |
|
And then to sleep but three hours in the night, |
|
And not be seen to wink of all the day, |
|
When I was wont to think no harm all night |
|
And make a dark night too of half the day, |
45 |
Which I hope well is not enrolled there. |
|
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep: |
|
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. |
|
KING Your oath is passed to pass away from these. |
|
BEROWNE Let me say no, my liege, an if you please. |
50 |
I only swore to study with your grace |
|
And stay here in your court for three years’ space. |
|
LONGAVILLE |
|
You swore to that, Berowne, and to the rest. |
|
BEROWNE By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. |
|
What is the end of study, let me know? |
55 |
KING |
|
Why, that to know which else we should not know. |
|
BEROWNE |
|
Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense? |
|
KING Ay, that is study’s god-like recompense. |
|
BEROWNE Come on then, I will swear to study so, |
|
To know the thing I am forbid to know: |
60 |
As thus, to study where I well may dine, |
|
When I to feast expressly am forbid; |
|
Or study where to meet some mistress fine, |
|
When mistresses from common sense are hid. |
|
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, |
65 |
Study to break it, and not break my troth. |
|
If study’s gain be thus, and this be so, |
|
Study knows that which yet it doth not know. |
|
Swear me to this, and I will ne’er say no. |
|
KING These be the stops that hinder study quite |
70 |
And train our intellects to vain delight. |
|
BEROWNE Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain |
|
Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain: |
|
As painfully to pore upon a book |
|
To seek the light of truth, while truth the while |
75 |
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look. |
|
Light seeking light doth light of light beguile; |
|
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, |
|
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. |
|
Study me how to please the eye indeed |
80 |
By fixing it upon a fairer eye, |
|
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, |
|
And give him light that it was blinded by. |
|
Study is like the heaven’s glorious sun, |
|
That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks; |
85 |
Small have continual plodders ever won, |
|
Save base authority from others’ books. |
|
These earthly godfathers of heaven’s lights, |
|
That give a name to every fixed star, |
|
Have no more profit of their shining nights |
90 |
Than those that walk and wot not what they are. |
|
Too much to know is to know naught but fame, |
|
And every godfather can give a name. |
|
KING How well he’s read, to reason against reading. |
|
DUMAINE Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding. |
95 |
LONGAVILLE |
|
He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding. |
|
BEROWNE |
|
The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding. |
|
DUMAINE How follows that? |
|
BEROWNE Fit in his place and time. |
|
DUMAINE In reason nothing. |
|
BEROWNE Something then in rhyme. |
|
100 |
|
That bites the first-born infants of the spring. |
|
BEROWNE |
|
Well, say I am. Why should proud summer boast |
|
Before the birds have any cause to sing? |
|
Why should I joy in any abortive birth? |
|
At Christmas I no more desire a rose |
105 |
Than wish a snow in May’s newfangled shows, |
|
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 sworn |
|
And bide the penance of each three years’ day. |
115 |
Give me the paper, let me read the same, |
|
And to the strictest decrees I’ll write my name. |
|
KING How well this yielding rescues thee from shame. |
|
BEROWNE [Reads.] Item, That no woman shall come |
|
within a mile of my court– Hath this been proclaimed? |
120 |
LONGAVILLE Four days ago. |
|
BEROWNE Let’s see the penalty – On pain of losing her |
|
tongue. Who devised this penalty? |
|
LONGAVILLE Marry, that did I. |
|
BEROWNE Sweet lord, and why? |
125 |
LONGAVILLE |
|
To fright them hence with that dread penalty. |
|
BEROWNE A dangerous law against gentility. |
|
Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman within the |
|
term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as |
|
the rest of the court can possible devise. |
130 |
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 |
135 |
To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father. |
|
Therefore this article is made in vain, |
|
Or vainly comes th’admired Princess hither. |
|
KING What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot. |
|
BEROWNE So study evermore is overshot. |
140 |
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. |
145 |
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 mastered, but by special grace. |
150 |
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, |
|
And he that breaks them in the least degree |
|
Stands in attainder of eternal shame. |
155 |
Suggestions are to other as to me; |
|
But I believe, although I seem so loath, |
|
I am the last that will last keep his oath. [Signs.] |
|
But is there no quick recreation granted? |
|
KING |
|
Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted |
160 |
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 who the music of his own vain tongue |
|
Doth ravish like enchanting harmony, |
165 |
A man of compliments, whom right and wrong |
|
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny. |
|
This child of fancy, that Armado hight, |
|
For interim to our studies shall relate |
|
In high-born words the worth of many a knight |
170 |
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, |
175 |
A man of fire-new words, fashion’s own knight. |
|
LONGAVILLE |
|
Costard the swain and he shall be our sport, |
|
And so to study three years is but short. |
|
Enter DULL, a constable, with a letter, and COSTARD. |
|
DULL Which is the Duke’s own person? |
|
BEROWNE This, fellow. What wouldst? |
180 |
DULL I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his |
|
grace’s farborough. But I would see his own person in |
|
flesh and blood. |
|
BEROWNE This is he. |
|
DULL Señor Arm … Arm … commends you. There’s |
185 |
villainy abroad. This letter will tell you more. |
|
COSTARD Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. |
|
KING A letter from the magnificent Armado. |
|
BEROWNE How low soever the matter, I hope in God for |
|
high words. |
190 |
LONGAVILLE A high hope for a low heaven. God grant |
|
us patience! |
|
BEROWNE To hear, or forbear hearing? |
|
LONGAVILLE To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh |
|
moderately, or to forbear both. |
195 |
BEROWNE Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause |
|
to climb in the merriness. |
|
COSTARD The matter is to me, sir, as concerning |
|
Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the |
|
manner. |
200 |
BEROWNE In what manner? |
|
COSTARD In manner and form following, sir, all those |
|
three. I was seen with her in the manor-house, sitting |
|
with her upon the form, and taken following her into |
|
the park, which, put together, is ’in manner and form |
205 |
following’. Now, sir, for the manner: it is the manner of |
|
|
|
BEROWNE For the ‘following’, sir? |
|
COSTARD As it shall follow in my correction, and God |
|
defend the right! |
210 |
KING Will you hear this letter with attention? |
|
BEROWNE As we would hear an oracle. |
|
COSTARD Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. |
|
KING [Reads.] Great deputy, the welkin’s vicegerent, and |
215 |
sole dominator of Navarre, my soul’s earth’s god and body’s fostering patron – |
|
COSTARD Not a word of Costard yet. |
|
KING So it is – |
|
COSTARD It may be so; but if he say it is so, he is, in |
220 |
telling true, but so. |
|
KING Peace! |
|
COSTARD Be to me and every man that dares not fight. |
|
KING No words! |
|
COSTARD Of other men’s secrets, I beseech you. |
225 |
KING So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, I did |
|
commend the black oppressing humour to the most |
|
wholesome physic of thy health-giving air; and, as I am a |
|
gentleman, betook myself to walk. The time, when? About |
|
the sixth hour, when beasts most graze, birds best peck and |
230 |
men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper. So |
|
much for the time when. Now for the ground, which? |
|
Which, I mean, I walked upon. It is ycleped thy park. Then |
|
for the place, where? Where, I mean, I did encounter that |
|
obscene and most preposterous event that draweth from my |
235 |
snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which here thou |
|
viewest, beholdest, surveyest or seest. But to the place, |
|
where? It standeth north-north-east and by east from the |
|
west corner of thy curious-knotted garden. There did I see |
|
that low-spirited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth – |
240 |
COSTARD Me? |
|
KING That unlettered small-knowing soul – |
|
COSTARD Me? |
|
KING That shallow vassal – |
|
COSTARD Still me? |
245 |
KING Which, as I remember, hight Costard – |
|
COSTARD O, me! |
|
KING Sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established |
|
proclaimed edict and continent canon, which with, O, |
|
with – but with this I passion to say wherewith – |
250 |
COSTARD With a wench. |
|
KING With a child of our grandmother Eve, a female, or, |
|
for thy more sweet understanding, a woman. Him I, as my |
|
ever-esteemed duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, to |
|
receive the meed of punishment, by thy sweet grace’s |
255 |
officer, Anthony Dull, a man of good repute, carriage, |
|
bearing and estimation. |
|
DULL Me, an’t shall please you. I am Anthony Dull. |
|
KING For Jaquenetta, so is the weaker vessel called which I |
|
apprehended with the aforesaid swain, I keep her as a |
260 |
vessel of thy law’s fury, and shall, at the least of thy sweet |
|
notice, bring her to trial. Thine in all compliments of |
|
devoted and heartburning heat of duty, |
|
Don Adriano de Armado. |
|
BEROWNE This is not so well as I looked for, but the best |
265 |
that ever I heard. |
|
KING Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say |
|
you to this? |
|
COSTARD Sir, I confess the wench. |
|
KING Did you hear the proclamation? |
270 |
COSTARD I do confess much of the hearing it, but little |
|
of the marking of it. |
|
KING It was proclaimed a year’s imprisonment to be |
|
taken with a wench. |
|
COSTARD I was taken with none, sir; I was taken with a |
275 |
damsel. |
|
KING Well, it was proclaimed damsel. |
|
COSTARD This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a |
|
virgin. |
|
KING It is so varied too, for it was proclaimed virgin. |
280 |
COSTARD If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken |
|
with a maid. |
|
KING This maid will not serve your turn, sir. |
|
COSTARD This maid will serve my turn, sir. |
|
KING Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast |
285 |
a week with bran and water. |
|
COSTARD I had rather pray a month with mutton and |
|
porridge. |
|
KING And Don Armado shall be your keeper. |
|
My lord Berowne, see him delivered o’er; |
290 |
And go we, lords, to put in practice that |
|
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. |
|
Exeunt the King, Longaville and Dumaine. |
|
BEROWNE |
|
I’ll lay my head to any goodman’s hat |
|
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. |
|
Sirrah, come on. |
295 |
COSTARD I suffer for the truth, sir, for true it is, I was |
|
taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl. |
|
And therefore welcome the sour cup of prosperity! |
|
Affliction may one day smile again, and, till then, sit |
|
thee down, sorrow. Exeunt. |
300 |
ARMADO Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit |
|
grows melancholy? |
|
MOTH A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. |
|
ARMADO Why, sadness is one and the selfsame thing, |
|
dear imp. |
5 |
MOTH No, no, O Lord, sir, no. |
|
ARMADO How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, |
|
my tender juvenal? |
|
MOTH By a familiar demonstration of the working, my |
|
tough señor. |
10 |
ARMADO Why tough señor? Why tough señor? |
|
MOTH Why tender juvenal? Why tender juvenal? |
|
ARMADO I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent |
|
epitheton appertaining to thy young days, which we |
|
15 |
|
MOTH And I, tough señor, as an appertinent title to |
|
your old time, which we may name tough. |
|
ARMADO Pretty and apt. |
|
MOTH How mean you, sir? I pretty and my saying apt, |
|
or I apt and my saying pretty? |
20 |
ARMADO Thou pretty, because little. |
|
MOTH Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt? |
|
ARMADO And therefore apt, because quick. |
|
MOTH Speak you this in my praise, master? |
|
ARMADO In thy condign praise. |
25 |
MOTH I will praise an eel with the same praise. |
|
ARMADO What, that an eel is ingenious? |
|
MOTH That an eel is quick. |
|
ARMADO I do say thou art quick in answers. Thou |
|
heatest my blood. |
30 |
MOTH I am answered sir. |
|
ARMADO I love not to be crossed. |
|
MOTH [aside] He speaks the mere contrary: crosses love |
|
not him. |
|
ARMADO I have promised to study three years with the |
35 |
Duke. |
|
MOTH You may do it in an hour, sir. |
|
ARMADO Impossible. |
|
MOTH How many is one thrice told? |
|
ARMADO I am ill at reckoning. It fitteth the spirit of a |
40 |
tapster. |
|
MOTH You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir. |
|
ARMADO I confess both. They are both the varnish of a |
|
complete man. |
|
MOTH Then I am sure you know how much the gross |
45 |
sum of deuce-ace amounts to. |
|
ARMADO It doth amount to one more than two. |
|
MOTH Which the base vulgar do call three. |
|
ARMADO True. |
|
MOTH Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here |
50 |
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. |
|
ARMADO A most fine figure! |
|
MOTH [aside] To prove you a cipher. |
55 |
ARMADO 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 |
60 |
any French courtier for a new-devised curtsy. I think |
|
scorn to sigh; methinks I should outswear Cupid. |
|
Comfort me, boy. What great men have been in love? |
|
MOTH Hercules, master. |
|
ARMADO Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear |
65 |
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. |
70 |
ARMADO 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. Who was Samson’s |
|
love, my dear Moth? |
|
MOTH A woman, master. |
75 |
ARMADO Of what complexion? |
|
MOTH Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four. |
|
ARMADO Tell me precisely of what complexion? |
|
MOTH Of the sea-water green, sir. |
80 |
ARMADO Is that one of the four complexions? |
|
MOTH As I have read, sir; and the best of them too. |
|
ARMADO 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. |
85 |
MOTH It was so, sir, for she had a green wit. |
|
ARMADO My love is most immaculate white and red. |
|
MOTH Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked |
|
under such colours. |
|
ARMADO Define, define, well-educated infant. |
90 |
MOTH My father’s wit and my mother’s tongue assist me! |
|
ARMADO Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty and |
|
pathetical! |
|
MOTH If she be made of white and red, |
95 |
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, |
100 |
For still her cheeks possess the same |
|
Which native she doth owe. |
|
A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of |
|
white and red. |
|
ARMADO Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the |
105 |
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. |
110 |
ARMADO 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. |
115 |
MOTH [aside] To be whipped: and yet a better love than |
|
my master. |
|
ARMADO Sing, boy. My spirit grows heavy in love. |
|
MOTH [aside] And that’s great marvel, loving a light |
|
wench. |
120 |
ARMADO I say sing. |
|
MOTH Forbear till this company be passed. |
|
Enter COSTARD, the Clown, DULL, the Constable, and JAQUENETTA, a wench. |
|
DULL Sir, the Duke’s pleasure is that you keep Costard |
|
safe; and you must suffer him to take no delight, nor |
|
125 |
|
this damsel, I must keep her at the park: she is allowed |
|
for the dey-woman. Fare you well. |
|
ARMADO [aside] I do betray myself with blushing. – |
|
Maid – |
|
JAQUENETTA Man. |
130 |
ARMADO I will visit thee at the lodge. |
|
JAQUENETTA That’s hereby. |
|
ARMADO I know where it is situate. |
|
JAQUENETTA Lord, how wise you are! |
|
ARMADO I will tell thee wonders. |
135 |
JAQUENETTA With that face? |
|
ARMADO I love thee. |
|
JAQUENETTA So I heard you say. |
|
ARMADO And so farewell. |
|
JAQUENETTA Fair weather after you. |
|
DULL Come, Jaquenetta, away. |
140 |
Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. |
|
ARMADO Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere |
|
thou be pardoned. |
|
COSTARD Well, sir, I hope when I do it I shall do it on a |
|
full stomach. |
145 |
ARMADO Thou shalt be heavily punished. |
|
COSTARD I am more bound to you than your fellows, for |
|
they are but lightly rewarded. |
|
ARMADO Take away this villain. Shut him up. |
|
MOTH Come, you transgressing slave, away! |
150 |
COSTARD Let me not be pent up, sir, I will fast being |
|
loose. |
|
MOTH No, sir, that were fast and loose. Thou shalt to prison. |
|
COSTARD Well, if ever I do see the merry days of |
155 |
desolation that I have seen, some shall see – |
|
MOTH What shall some see? |
|
COSTARD 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 |
160 |
God I have as little patience as another man and |
|
therefore Ican be quiet. Exeunt Moth and Costard. |
|
ARMADO 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 |
165 |
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 |
170 |
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 |
175 |
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 rhyme, for I am |
|
sure I shall turn sonnet. Devise, wit; write, pen; for I |
|
am for whole volumes in folio. Exit. |
180 |
BOYET and two others. |
|
BOYET Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits. |
|
Consider who 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 |
5 |
Of all perfections that a man may owe, |
|
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 |
10 |
When she did starve the general world beside |
|
And prodigally gave them all to you. |
|
PRINCESS |
|
Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, |
|
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise. |
|
Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye, |
15 |
Not uttered 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, |
20 |
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’s seemeth it a needful course, |
25 |
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, |
30 |
On serious business craving quick dispatch, |
|
Importunes personal conference with his grace. |
|
Haste, signify so much, while we attend, |
|
Like humble-visaged suitors, his high will. |
|
BOYET Proud of employment, willingly I go. |
35 |
PRINCESS All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. |
|
Exit Boyet. |
|
Who are the votaries, my loving lords, |
|
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous Duke? |
|
LORD Longaville is one. |
|
PRINCESS Know you the man? |
|
MARIA I know him, madam. At a marriage feast |
40 |
Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir |
|
Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized |
|
In Normandy, saw I this Longaville. |
|
A man of sovereign parts, he is esteemed, |
|
Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms. |
45 |
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 matched with too blunt a will, |
|
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills |
50 |
|
|
PRINCESS Some merry mocking lord belike: is’t so? |
|
MARIA They say so most that most his humours know. |
|
PRINCESS |
|
Such short-lived wits do wither as they grow. |
|
Who are the rest? |
55 |
KATHERINE |
|
The young Dumaine, a well-accomplished youth, |
|
Of all that virtue love for virtue loved; |
|
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. |
60 |
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. |
|
ROSALINE Another of these students at that time |
|
Was there with him, if I have heard a truth. |
65 |
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 |
70 |
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, |
75 |
So sweet and voluble is his discourse. |
|
PRINCESS 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. |
|
Enter BOYET. |
|
PRINCESS Now, what admittance, lord? |
80 |
BOYET Navarre had notice of your fair approach, |
|
And he and his competitors in oath |
|
Were all addressed to meet you, gentle lady, |
|
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learned: |
|
He rather means to lodge you in the field, |
85 |
Like one that comes here to besiege his court, |
|
Than seek a dispensation for his oath, |
|
To let you enter his unpeopled house. |
|
Enter the KING of Navarre, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE and DUMAINE and attendants. | |
Here comes Navarre. |
|
KING Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. |
90 |
PRINCESS ‘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. |
95 |
PRINCESS I will be welcome then. Conduct me thither. |
|
KING Hear me, dear lady: I have sworn an oath. |
|
PRINCESS Our Lady help my lord! He’ll be forsworn. |
|
KING Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. |
|
PRINCESS |
|
Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else. |
100 |
KING Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. |
|
PRINCESS Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, |
|
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. |
|
I hear your grace hath sworn out housekeeping. |
|
’Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, |
105 |
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. |
110 |
[Gives the King a paper.] |
|
KING Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. |
|
PRINCESS You will the sooner that I were away, |
|
For you’ll prove perjured if you make me stay. |
|
[The King reads.] |
|
BEROWNE [to Rosaline] |
|
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? |
|
ROSALINE Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? |
115 |
BEROWNE I know you did. |
|
ROSALINE How needless was it then |
|
To ask the question! |
|
BEROWNE You must not be so quick. |
|
ROSALINE |
|
’Tis long of you that spur me with such questions. |
|
BEROWNE |
|
Your wit’s too hot, it speeds too fast, ’twill tire. |
|
ROSALINE Not till it leave the rider in the mire. |
120 |
BEROWNE What time o’day? |
|
ROSALINE The hour that fools should ask. |
|
BEROWNE Now fair befall your mask. |
|
ROSALINE Fair fall the face it covers. |
|
BEROWNE And send you many lovers. |
125 |
ROSALINE Amen, so you be none. |
|
BEROWNE Nay, then will I be gone. [Leaves her.] |
|
KING Madam, your father here doth intimate |
|
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns, |
|
Being but the one half of an entire sum |
130 |
Disbursed by my father in his wars. |
|
But say that he or we – as neither have – |
|
Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid |
|
A hundred thousand more, in surety of the which |
|
One part of Aquitaine is bound to us, |
135 |
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. |
140 |
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, |
145 |
Which we much rather had depart withal, |
|
And have the money by our father lent, |
|
Than Aquitaine, so gelded as it is. |
|
|
|
From reason’s yielding, your fair self should make |
150 |
A yielding ’gainst some reason in my breast |
|
And go well satisfied to France again. |
|
PRINCESS You do the King my father too much wrong |
|
And wrong the reputation of your name, |
|
In so unseeming to confess receipt |
155 |
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. |
|
PRINCESS We arrest your word. |
|
Boyet, you can produce acquittances |
160 |
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. |
|
Tomorrow you shall have a sight of them. |
165 |
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. |
170 |
You may not come, fair Princess, within my gates, |
|
But here without you shall be so received |
|
As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart, |
|
Though so denied fair harbour in my house. |
|
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell. |
175 |
Tomorrow shall we visit you again. |
|
PRINCESS |
|
Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace. |
|
KING Thy own wish wish I thee in every place. |
|
Exeunt the King, Longaville and Dumaine. |
|
BEROWNE Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart. |
|
ROSALINE Pray you, do my commendations; I would be |
180 |
glad to see it. |
|
BEROWNE I would you heard it groan. |
|
ROSALINE Is the fool sick? |
|
BEROWNE Sick at the heart. |
|
ROSALINE Alack, let it blood. |
185 |
BEROWNE Would that do it good? |
|
ROSALINE My physic says ay. |
|
BEROWNE Will you prick’t with your eye? |
|
ROSALINE Non point, with my knife. |
|
BEROWNE Now God save thy life. |
190 |
ROSALINE And yours from long living. |
|
BEROWNE I cannot stay thanksgiving. Exit. |
|
Enter DUMAINE. |
|
DUMAINE |
|
Sir, I pray you a word. What lady is that same? |
|
BOYET The heir of Alençon, Katherine her name. |
|
DUMAINE A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. Exit. |
195 |
[Enter LONGAVILLE.] |
|
LONGAVILLE |
|
I beseech you a word. What is she in the white? |
|
BOYET |
|
A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light. |
|
LONGAVILLE |
|
Perchance light in the light. I desire her name. |
|
BOYET |
|
She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame. |
|
LONGAVILLE Pray you, sir, whose daughter? |
200 |
BOYET Her mother’s, I have heard. |
|
LONGAVILLE God’s blessing on your beard! |
|
BOYET Good sir, be not offended. |
|
She is an heir of Falconbridge. |
|
LONGAVILLE Nay, my choler is ended. |
205 |
She is a most sweet lady. |
|
BOYET Not unlike, sir, that may be. Exit Longaville. |
|
Enter BEROWNE. |
|
BEROWNE What’s her name in the cap? |
|
BOYET Rosaline, by good hap. |
|
BEROWNE Is she wedded or no? |
210 |
BOYET To her will sir, or so. |
|
BEROWNE You are welcome, sir. Adieu. |
|
BOYET Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. |
|
Exit Berowne. |
|
MARIA That last is Berowne, the merry madcap lord. |
|
Not a word with him but a jest. |
|
BOYET And every jest but a word. |
215 |
PRINCESS |
|
It was well done of you to take him at his word. |
|
BOYET I was as willing to grapple as he was to board. |
|
KATHERINE Two hot sheeps, marry! |
|
BOYET And wherefore not ‘ships’? |
|
No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. |
|
KATHERINE |
|
You sheep, and I pasture. Shall that finish the jest? |
220 |
BOYET So you grant pasture for me. [Tries to kiss her.] |
|
KATHERINE Not so, gentle beast. |
|
My lips are no common, though several they be. |
|
BOYET Belonging to whom? |
|
KATHERINE To my fortunes and me. |
|
PRINCESS |
|
Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree. |
|
This civil war of wits were much better used |
225 |
On Navarre and his bookmen, 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. |
|
PRINCESS With what? |
230 |
BOYET With that which we lovers entitle ‘affected’. |
|
PRINCESS 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, |
235 |
|
|
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, |
|
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be. |
240 |
All senses to that sense did make their repair, |
|
To feel only looking on fairest of fair. |
|
Methought all his senses were locked in his eye, |
|
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; |
|
Who, tendering their own worth from where they |
|
were glassed, |
245 |
Did point you to buy them along as you passed. |
|
His face’s own margin 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. |
|
PRINCESS Come, to our pavilion. Boyet is disposed. |
|
BOYET |
250 |
But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclosed. |
|
I only have made a mouth of his eye |
|
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. |
|
MARIA |
|
Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully. |
|
KATHERINE |
|
He is Cupid’s grandfather, and learns news of him. |
|
ROSALINE |
255 |
Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim. |
|
BOYET Do you hear, my mad wenches? |
|
MARIA No. |
|
BOYET What then, do you see? |
|
MARIA Ay, our way to be gone. |
|
BOYET You are too hard for me. |
|
Exeunt omnes. |
|
ARMADO Warble, child, make passionate my sense of hearing. |
|
MOTH [Sings.] Concolinel. |
5 |
ARMADO 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? |
10 |
ARMADO 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 |
15 |
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 |
20 |
old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a |
|
snip and away. These are compliments, these are |
|
humours, these betray nice wenches that would be |
|
betrayed without these; and make them men of note – |
|
do you note me? – that most are affected to these. |
25 |
ARMADO How hast thou purchased this experience? |
|
MOTH By my penny of observation. |
|
ARMADO But O – But O – |
|
MOTH ‘The hobby-horse is forgot.’ |
|
ARMADO Call’st thou my love ‘hobby-horse’? |
30 |
MOTH No, master. The hobby-horse is but a colt, and |
|
your love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your |
|
love? |
|
ARMADO Almost I had. |
|
MOTH Negligent student! Learn her by heart. |
35 |
ARMADO By heart and in heart, boy. |
|
MOTH And out of heart, master. All those three I will prove. |
|
ARMADO What wilt thou prove? |
|
MOTH A man, if I live; and this ‘by’, ‘in’ and ‘without’ |
40 |
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. |
|
ARMADO I am all these three. |
45 |
MOTH And three times as much more, and yet nothing |
|
at all. |
|
ARMADO Fetch hither the swain. He must carry me a |
|
letter. |
|
MOTH A message well sympathized: a horse to be |
50 |
ambassador for an ass. |
|
ARMADO 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. |
|
ARMADO The way is but short. Away! |
55 |
MOTH As swift as lead, sir. |
|
ARMADO The meaning, pretty ingenious? |
|
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull and slow? |
|
MOTH Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no. |
|
ARMADO I say lead is slow. |
|
MOTH You are too swift, sir, to say so. |
60 |
Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun? |
|
ARMADO 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. |
|
ARMADO |
|
A most acute juvenal, voluble and free of grace! |
65 |
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face. |
|
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. |
|
My herald is returned. |
|
Enter MOTH, the Page, and COSTARD, the Clown. |
|
MOTH |
|
A wonder, master! Here’s a costard broken in a shin. |
|
ARMADO |
|
Some enigma, some riddle. Come, thy l’envoy – begin. |
70 |
COSTARD 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! |
|
|
|
thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes |
75 |
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? |
|
ARMADO |
80 |
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. |
85 |
There’s the moral. Now the l’envoy. |
|
MOTH I will add the l’envoy. Say the moral again. |
|
ARMADO The fox, the ape and the humble-bee |
|
Were still at odds, being but three. |
|
MOTH Until the goose came out of door, |
90 |
And stayed 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. |
95 |
ARMADO 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? |
|
COSTARD |
|
The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that’s flat. |
100 |
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. |
|
ARMADO |
|
Come hither, come hither. How did this argument |
|
begin? |
|
MOTH By saying that a costard was broken in a shin. |
105 |
Then called you for the l’envoy. |
|
COSTARD 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. |
|
ARMADO But tell me, how was there a costard broken in |
110 |
a shin? |
|
MOTH I will tell you sensibly. |
|
COSTARD Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth. I will speak |
|
that l’envoy. |
|
I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, |
115 |
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. |
|
ARMADO We will talk no more of this matter. |
|
COSTARD Till there be more matter in the shin. |
|
ARMADO Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. |
|
COSTARD O, marry me to one Frances! I smell some |
120 |
l’envoy, some goose in this. |
|
ARMADO By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at |
|
liberty, enfreedoming thy person. Thou wert |
|
immured, restrained, captivated, bound. |
|
COSTARD True, true, and now you will be my |
125 |
purgation, and let me loose. |
|
ARMADO I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance, |
|
and in lieu thereof impose on thee nothing but this: |
|
[Gives Costard a letter.] bear this significant to the |
|
country maid Jaquenetta. There is remuneration, |
130 |
[Gives Costard a coin.] for the best ward of mine |
|
honour is rewarding my dependants. Moth, follow. |
|
Exit. |
|
MOTH Like the sequel, I. Signor Costard, adieu. |
|
Exit. |
|
COSTARD |
|
My sweet ounce of man’s flesh, my incony jew! |
|
Now will I look to his remuneration. ‘Remuneration’! |
135 |
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. |
|
|
140 |
Enter BEROWNE. |
|
BEROWNE My good knave Costard, exceedingly well |
|
met. |
|
COSTARD Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon |
|
may a man buy for a remuneration? |
145 |
BEROWNE What is a remuneration? |
|
COSTARD Marry, sir, halfpenny-farthing. |
|
BEROWN Why then, three-farthing-worth of silk. |
|
COSTARD I thank your worship. God be wi’you. |
|
BEROWNE Stay, slave. I must employ thee. |
150 |
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, |
|
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. |
|
COSTARD When would you have it done, sir? |
|
BEROWNE This afternoon. |
|
COSTARD Well, I will do it, sir. Fare you well. |
155 |
BEROWNE Thou knowest not what it is. |
|
COSTARD I shall know, sir, when I have done it. |
|
BEROWNE Why, villain, thou must know first. |
|
COSTARD I will come to your worship tomorrow morning. |
|
BEROWNE It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it |
160 |
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, |
165 |
And Rosaline they call her. Ask for her |
|
And to her white hand see thou do commend |
|
This sealed-up counsel. [Gives Costard a letter.] |
|
There’s thy guerdon: go. |
|
[Gives Costard money.] |
|
COSTARD Guerdon, O sweet guerdon! Better than |
|
remuneration, elevenpence-farthing better. Most |
170 |
sweet guerdon! I will do it, sir, in print. Guerdon! |
|
Remuneration! Exit. |
|
BEROWNE |
|
And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love’s whip, |
|
A very beadle to a humorous sigh, |
|
175 |
|
A domineering pedant o’er the boy, |
|
Than whom no mortal so magnificent! |
|
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, |
|
This Signor Junior, giant dwarf, Dan Cupid, |
|
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, |
180 |
Th’anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, |
|
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, |
|
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, |
|
Sole imperator and great general |
|
Of trotting paritors – O my little heart! |
185 |
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 |
190 |
And never going aright, being a watch, |
|
But being watched that it may still go right! |
|
Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all; |
|
And among three to love the worst of all, |
|
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, |
195 |
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 |
200 |
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. |
|
NATHANIEL Very reverend sport, truly, and done in the |
|
testimony of a good conscience. |
|
HOLOFERNES The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in |
5 |
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. |
|
NATHANIEL Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are |
10 |
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: but, sir, I |
|
assure ye it was a buck of the first head. |
|
HOLOFERNES Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. |
|
DULL ’Twas not a ‘auld grey doe’, ’twas a pricket. |
|
HOLOFERNES Most barbarous intimation! Yet a kind of |
15 |
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, |
20 |
to insert again my haud credo for a deer. |
|
DULL I said the deer was not a ‘auld grey doe’, ’twas a pricket. |
|
HOLOFERNES Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus! |
|
O, thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look! |
|
NATHANIEL |
|
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. |
30 |
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 omne bene, say I, being of an old father’s mind; |
|
Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. |
|
DULL |
|
You two are bookmen: can you tell me by your wit |
35 |
What was a month old at Cain’s birth, that’s not five weeks old as yet? |
|
HOLOFERNES Dictynna, goodman Dull. Dictynna, goodman Dull. |
|
DULL What is Dictynna? |
|
NATHANIEL A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. |
40 |
HOLOFERNES |
|
The moon was a month old, when Adam was no more, |
|
And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score. |
|
Th’allusion holds in the exchange. |
|
DULL ’Tis true indeed: the collusion holds in the exchange. |
|
HOLOFERNES God comfort thy capacity! I say |
|
th’allusion holds in the exchange. |
|
DULL And I say the pollution holds in the exchange, for |
|
the moon is never but a month old; and I say beside |
|
that ’twas a pricket that the Princess killed. |
50 |
HOLOFERNES 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. |
|
NATHANIEL Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it |
|
shall please you to abrogate scurrility. |
55 |
HOLOFERNES I will something affect the letter, for it |
|
argues facility. |
|
The preyful Princess pierced and pricked 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 sorrel jumps from thicket; |
|
Or pricket, sore, or else sorrel, the people fall a-hooting. |
60 |
If sore be sore, then ‘l’ to sore makes fifty sores o’sorrel: |
|
Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more ‘l’. |
|
NATHANIEL A rare talent! |
|
DULL If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with |
65 |
a talent. |
|
HOLOFERNES 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, |
70 |
nourished in the womb of pia mater and delivered |
|
upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in |
|
those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. |
|
NATHANIEL Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may |
|
my parishioners, for their sons are well tutored by you, |
75 |
and their daughters profit very greatly under you. You |
|
are a good member of the commonwealth. |
|
HOLOFERNES Mehercle! If their sons be ingenious, they |
|
shall want no instruction. If their daughters be |
|
capable, I will put it to them. But vir sapit qui pauca |
|
loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth us. |
|
Enter JAQUENETTA, with a letter, and COSTARD, the Clown. |
80 |
JAQUENETTA God give you good morrow, Master Person. |
|
HOLOFERNES Master Person, quasi pierce-one? And if |
|
one should be pierced, which is the one? |
|
COSTARD Marry, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likest |
85 |
to a hogshead. |
|
HOLOFERNES ‘Of piercing a hogshead’ – a good lustre of |
|
conceit in a turf of earth, fire enough for a flint, pearl |
|
enough for a swine: ’tis pretty, it is well. |
|
JAQUENETTA Good Master Parson, be so good as read |
90 |
me this letter. It was given me by Costard and sent me |
|
from Don Armado. I beseech you read it. |
|
|
|
Fauste precor, gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra |
|
Ruminat – |
|
and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan, I may speak of |
95 |
thee as the traveller doth of Venice: |
|
Venetia, Venetia, |
|
Chi non ti vede, non ti pretia. |
|
Old Mantuan, old Mantuan, who understandeth thee |
|
not, loves thee not. [Sings.] |
100 |
Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. |
|
Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? Or rather as |
|
Horace says in his – What, my soul, verses? |
|
NATHANIEL Ay, sir, and very learned. |
|
HOLOFERNES Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse. |
|
Lege, domine. |
105 |
NATHANIEL [Reads.] |
|
‘If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? |
|
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed. |
|
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll faithful prove. |
|
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. |
|
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, |
110 |
Where all those pleasures live, that art would comprehend. |
|
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice: |
|
Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend, |
|
All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder; |
|
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire. |
115 |
Thy eye Jove’s lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, |
|
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire. |
|
Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong, |
|
That sings heaven’s praise, with such an earthly |
|
tongue.’ |
120 |
HOLOFERNES You find not the apostrophus and so miss |
|
the accent. Let me supervise the canzonet. [Takes the |
|
letter.] 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 |
125 |
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? |
|
JAQUENETTA Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, one |
130 |
of the strange queen’s lords. |
|
HOLOFERNES 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 |
135 |
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 |
140 |
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. |
|
JAQUENETTA Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life. |
|
COSTARD Have with thee, my girl. |
145 |
Exeunt Costard and Jaquenetta. |
|
NATHANIEL Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and as a certain father saith – |
|
HOLOFERNES Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear |
|
colourable colours. But to return to the verses: did |
150 |
they please you, Sir Nathaniel? |
|
NATHANIEL Marvellous well for the pen. |
|
HOLOFERNES I do dine today at the father’s of a certain |
|
pupil of mine, where if, before repast, it shall please |
|
you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my |
155 |
privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid child |
|
or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I will prove |
|
those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of |
|
poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your society. |
|
NATHANIEL And thank you too, for society, saith the |
160 |
text, is the happiness of life. |
|
HOLOFERNES And certes, the text most infallibly |
|
concludes it. [to Dull] Sir, I do invite you too: you shall |
|
not say me nay. Pauca verba. Away, the gentles are at |
|
their game and we will to our recreation. Exeunt. |
|
