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twg_000000021400 | 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. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021401 | 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 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 boy, name more; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021402 | 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. ARMADO. O well-knit Samson, strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee in my rapier as much as thou didst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021403 | me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Samsons love, my dear Moth? MOTH. A woman, master. 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. ARMADO. Is that one of the four | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021404 | 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. MOTH. It was so, sir, for she had a green wit. ARMADO. My love is most immaculate | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021405 | white and red. MOTH. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours. ARMADO. Define, define, well-educated infant. MOTH. My fathers wit and my mothers tongue assist me! ARMADO. Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty, and pathetical! MOTH. If she be made of white and red, Her faults will neer be known; For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021406 | 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. A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red. ARMADO. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar? MOTH. The world was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021407 | 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. ARMADO. I will have that subject newly writ oer, that I may example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021408 | 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. ARMADO. Sing, boy. My spirit grows heavy in love. MOTH. And thats great marvel, loving a light wench. ARMADO. I say, sing. MOTH. Forbear till this company be past. Enter Costard the Clown, Dull | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021409 | the Constable and Jaquenetta a Wench. DULL. Sir, the Dukes pleasure is that you keep Costard safe; and you must suffer him to take no delight, nor no penance, but he must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at the park. She is allowed for the dey-woman. Fare you well. ARMADO. I do betray | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021410 | myself with blushing.Maid. JAQUENETTA. Man. ARMADO. I will visit thee at the lodge. JAQUENETTA. Thats hereby. ARMADO. I know where it is situate. JAQUENETTA. Lord, how wise you are! ARMADO. I will tell thee wonders. 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021411 | Jaquenetta, away. [_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. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021412 | this villain. Shut him up. MOTH. Come, you transgressing slave, away! 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 desolation that I have seen, some shall see. MOTH. What shall some see? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021413 | 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 God I have as little patience as another man, and therefore I can be quiet. [_Exeunt Moth and Costard._] ARMADO. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021414 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021415 | he had an excellent strength; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupids butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniards 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021416 | 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 rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio. [_Exit._] ACT II SCENE I. The King of Navarres | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021417 | park. A pavilion and tents at a distance Enter the Princess of France, with three attending Ladies: Rosaline, Maria, Katharine and three Lords: Boyet, and two others. BOYET. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits. Consider who the King your father sends, To whom he sends, and whats his embassy. Yourself, held precious in the worlds esteem, To parley with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021418 | the sole inheritor 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 When she did starve the general world beside And prodigally gave them all to you. PRINCESS. Good Lord Boyet, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021419 | my beauty, though but mean, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise. Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye, Not uttered by base sale of chapmens 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021420 | 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 tos 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021421 | As our best-moving fair solicitor. Tell him the daughter of the King of France, 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. PRINCESS. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. [_Exit Boyet._] Who are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021422 | the votaries, my loving lords, That are vow-fellows with this virtuous Duke? LORD. Lord Longaville is one. PRINCESS. Know you the man? MARIA. 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 esteemed, Well fitted in arts, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021423 | glorious in arms. Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. The only soil of his fair virtues gloss, If virtues 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 It should none spare that come within his power. PRINCESS. Some merry mocking | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021424 | lord, belike. Ist 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? KATHARINE. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021425 | good, And shape to win grace though he had no wit. I saw him at the Duke Alenons 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. Berowne they call him, but a merrier | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021426 | man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hours 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, conceits expositor, Delivers in such apt and gracious words That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021427 | are quite ravished, 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? BOYET. Navarre had notice of your fair approach, And he and his competitors in oath Were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021428 | 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, Like one that comes here to besiege his court, Than seek a dispensation for his oath, To let you enter his unpeopled house. Enter King of Navarre, Longaville, Dumaine, Berowne and Attendants. Here comes Navarre. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021429 | KING. Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. 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. PRINCESS. I will be welcome then. Conduct | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021430 | me thither. KING. Hear me, dear lady. I have sworn an oath. PRINCESS. Our Lady help my lord! Hell be forsworn. KING. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. PRINCESS. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else. KING. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. PRINCESS. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, Where now | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021431 | his knowledge must prove ignorance. I hear your Grace hath sworn out housekeeping. Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, 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. [_She gives him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021432 | a paper._] KING. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. PRINCESS. You will the sooner that I were away, For youll prove perjured if you make me stay. [_The King reads the paper._] BEROWNE. [_To Rosaline_.] Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? ROSALINE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? BEROWNE. I know you did. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021433 | 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 wits too hot, it speeds too fast, twill tire. ROSALINE. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. BEROWNE. What time o day? ROSALINE. The hour that fools should | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021434 | ask. BEROWNE. Now fair befall your mask. ROSALINE. Fair fall the face it covers. BEROWNE. And send you many lovers! ROSALINE. Amen, so you be none. BEROWNE. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021435 | 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, Although not valued to the moneys worth. If then the King your father will restore But that one half which is unsatisfied, We will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021436 | 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, Which we much rather had depart withal, And have the money | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021437 | by our father lent, Than Aquitaine, so gelded as it is. Dear Princess, were not his requests so far From reasons yielding, your fair self should make 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021438 | 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, Ill repay it back Or yield up Aquitaine. PRINCESS. We arrest your word. Boyet, you can produce acquittances For such a sum from special officers Of Charles his father. KING. Satisfy me so. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021439 | 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. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021440 | worthiness. You may not come, fair Princess, in 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. Tomorrow shall we visit you again. PRINCESS. Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace. KING. Thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021441 | 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 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. BEROWNE. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021442 | Would that do it good? ROSALINE. My physic says ay. BEROWNE. Will you prickt with your eye? ROSALINE. _Non point_, with my knife. BEROWNE. Now, God save thy life. ROSALINE. And yours from long living. BEROWNE. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [_He exits._] Enter Dumaine. DUMAINE. Sir, I pray you, a word. What lady is that same? BOYET. The heir of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021443 | Alenon, Katharine her name. DUMAINE. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. [_He exits._] 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021444 | a shame. LONGAVILLE. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? BOYET. Her mothers, I have heard. LONGAVILLE. Gods blessing on your beard! BOYET. Good sir, be not offended. She is an heir of Falconbridge. LONGAVILLE. Nay, my choler is ended. She is a most sweet lady. BOYET. Not unlike, sir; that may be. [_Exit Longaville._] Enter Berowne. BEROWNE. Whats her name in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021445 | the cap? BOYET. Rosaline, by good hap. BEROWNE. Is she wedded or no? 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021446 | word. 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. KATHARINE. Two hot sheeps, marry! BOYET. And wherefore not ships? No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. KATHARINE. You sheep and I pasture. Shall that finish the jest? BOYET. So you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021447 | grant pasture for me. [_He tries to kiss her._] KATHARINE. Not so, gentle beast. My lips are no common, though several they be. BOYET. Belonging to whom? KATHARINE. To my fortunes and me. PRINCESS. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree. This civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his bookmen, for here tis abused. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021448 | BOYET. If my observation, which very seldom lies, By the hearts still rhetoric disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. PRINCESS. With what? 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021449 | with your print impressed, Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed. 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 locked in his eye, As jewels in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021450 | crystal for some prince to buy; Who, tendring their own worth from where they were glassed, Did point you to buy them, along as you passed. His faces own margent did quote such amazes That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes. Ill give you Aquitaine, and all that is his, An you give him for my sake but | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021451 | one loving kiss. PRINCESS. Come, to our pavilion. Boyet is disposed. BOYET. 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. ROSALINE. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully. MARIA. He is Cupids grandfather, and learns news of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021452 | him. ROSALINE. 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? ROSALINE. Ay, our way to be gone. BOYET. You are too hard for me. [_Exeunt._] ACT III SCENE I. The King of Navarres park Enter Armado the Braggart and Moth his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021453 | Boy. ARMADO. Warble, child, make passionate my sense of hearing. MOTH. [_Singing_.] Concolinel. 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? ARMADO. How meanest thou? Brawling in French? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021454 | MOTH. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongues 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; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021455 | with your hat penthouse-like oer 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 compliments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021456 | that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of notedo you note me?that most are affected to these. ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience? MOTH. By my penny of observation. ARMADO. But Obut O MOTH. The hobby-horse is forgot. ARMADO. Callst thou my love hobby-horse? MOTH. No, master. The hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021457 | perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love? ARMADO. Almost I had. MOTH. Negligent student! Learn her by heart. 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, upon the instant: by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021458 | 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. MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. ARMADO. Fetch | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021459 | hither the swain. He must carry me a letter. MOTH. A message well sympathized: a horse to be 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! MOTH. As swift as lead, sir. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021460 | 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. Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun? ARMADO. Sweet smoke of rhetoric! He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021461 | thats he. I shoot thee at the swain. MOTH. Thump then, and I flee. [_Exit._] ARMADO. A most acute juvenal, voluble and free of grace! By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face. Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is returned. Enter Moth and Costard. MOTH. A wonder, master! Heres a costard broken in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021462 | a shin. ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle. Come, thy _lenvoi_ begin. COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no _lenvoi_, no salve in the mail, sir. O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! No _lenvoi_, no _lenvoi_, no salve, sir, but a plantain. ARMADO. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021463 | smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take _salve_ for _lenvoi_, and the word _lenvoi_ for a _salve?_ MOTH. Do the wise think them other? Is not _lenvoi_ a _salve?_ ARMADO. 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021464 | and the humble-bee Were still at odds, being but three. Theres the moral. Now the _lenvoi_. MOTH. I will add the _lenvoi_. 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, And stayed the odds by adding four. Now will I begin | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021465 | your moral, and do you follow with my _lenvoi_. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee Were still at odds, being but three. ARMADO. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four. MOTH. A good _lenvoi_, ending in the goose. Would you desire more? COSTARD. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, thats | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021466 | 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 _lenvoi_ay, thats a fat goose. ARMADO. Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin? MOTH. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin. Then called you for the _lenvoi_. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021467 | COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in. Then the boys fat _lenvoi_, the goose that you bought; and he ended the market. ARMADO. But tell me, how was there a costard broken in a shin? MOTH. I will tell you sensibly. COSTARD. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth. I will speak that _lenvoi_. I, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021468 | Costard, running out, that was safely within, 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 _lenvoi_, some goose, in this. ARMADO. By my sweet soul, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021469 | I mean setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person. Thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound. COSTARD. True, true; and now you will be my 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: [_Giving him a letter_.] bear this significant to the country maid | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021470 | Jaquenetta. [_Giving money_.] There is remuneration for the best ward of mine honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. [_Exit._] MOTH. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu. [_Exit Moth._] COSTARD. My sweet ounce of mans flesh, my incony Jew! Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, thats the Latin word for three farthings. Three farthings_remuneration_. Whats the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021471 | price of this inkle? One penny. No, Ill 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. Enter Berowne. BEROWNE. My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met. COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021472 | remuneration? BEROWNE. What is a remuneration? COSTARD. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. BEROWNE. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk. COSTARD. I thank your worship. God be wi you. BEROWNE. Stay, slave. I must employ thee. 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? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021473 | BEROWNE. This afternoon. COSTARD. Well, I will do it, sir. Fare you well. 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 is but this: The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021474 | 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, And Rosaline they call her. Ask for her And to her white hand see thou do commend This sealed-up counsel. [_Gives him money._] Theres thy guerdon. Go. COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! Better than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021475 | remuneration, a levenpence farthing better. Most sweet gardon! I will do it, sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration! [_Exit._] BEROWNE. And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been loves whip, A very beadle to a humorous sigh, A critic, nay, a night-watch constable, A domineering pedant oer the boy, Than whom no mortal so magnificent! This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021476 | boy, This Signior Junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid, Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, 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 paritorsO my little heart! And I to be a corporal of his field And wear his colours like a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021477 | tumblers 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, 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021478 | whitely 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021479 | 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._] ACT IV SCENE I. The King of Navarres park Enter the Princess, a Forester, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Boyet and other Lords. PRINCESS. Was that the King that spurred his horse so hard Against the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021480 | steep uprising of the hill? BOYET. I know not, but I think it was not he. PRINCESS. Whoeer he was, he showed a mounting mind. Well, lords, today 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? FORESTER. Hereby, upon | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021481 | the edge of yonder coppice, A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. PRINCESS. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, And thereupon thou speakst the fairest shoot. FORESTER. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. PRINCESS. What, what? First praise me, and again say no? O short-lived pride! Not fair? Alack for woe! FORESTER. Yes, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021482 | madam, fair. PRINCESS. Nay, never paint me now. Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: [_She gives him money._] Fair payment for foul words is more than due. FORESTER. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. PRINCESS. See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit. O heresy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021483 | in fair, fit for these days! 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 dot; If wounding, then it was to show my skill, That more for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021484 | praise than purpose meant to kill. And out of question so it is sometimes, Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, When, for fames sake, for praise, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart; As I for praise alone now seek to spill The poor deers blood, that my heart means no ill. BOYET. Do not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021485 | curst wives hold that self-sovereignty Only for praise sake, when they strive to be Lords oer their lords? PRINCESS. Only for praise; and praise we may afford To any lady that subdues a lord. Enter Costard. BOYET. Here comes a member of the commonwealth. COSTARD. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady? PRINCESS. Thou shalt know her, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021486 | fellow, by the rest that have no heads. COSTARD. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? PRINCESS. The thickest and the tallest. COSTARD. The thickest and the tallest. It is so, truth is truth. An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, One o these maids girdles for your waist should be fit. Are not you the chief | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021487 | woman? You are the thickest here. PRINCESS. Whats your will, sir? Whats your will? COSTARD. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one Lady Rosaline. PRINCESS. O, thy letter, thy letter! Hes 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; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021488 | it importeth none here. It is writ to Jaquenetta. PRINCESS. We will read it, I swear. Break the neck of the wax, and everyone give ear. BOYET. [_Reads_.] _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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021489 | 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, vici, _which to annothanize in the vulgarO base and obscure vulgar!_videlicet, _He came, see, and overcame. He came, one; see, two; overcame, three. Who came? The King. Why did | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021490 | 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 Kings. The captive is enriched. On whose side? The beggars. The catastrophe is a nuptial. On whose side? The Kings? No, on both in one, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021491 | or one in both. I am the King, for so stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021492 | 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 fall his princely feet before, And he from forage will incline to play. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021493 | But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then? Food for his rage, repasture for his den._ PRINCESS. What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter? What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better? BOYET. I am much deceived but I remember the style. PRINCESS. Else your memory is bad, going oer it erewhile. BOYET. This | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021494 | Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in court, A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport To the Prince and his book-mates. PRINCESS. Thou, fellow, a word. Who gave thee this letter? COSTARD. I told you: my lord. PRINCESS. To whom shouldst thou give it? COSTARD. From my lord to my lady. PRINCESS. From which lord to which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021495 | lady? COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, To a lady of France that he called Rosaline. PRINCESS. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away. Here, sweet, put up this: twill be thine another day. [_Exeunt all but Boyet, Rosaline, Maria and Costard._] BOYET. Who is the shooter? Who is the shooter? ROSALINE. Shall I teach | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021496 | you to know? BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty. ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off! BOYET. My lady goes to kill horns, but if thou marry, Hang me by the neck if horns that year miscarry. Finely put on! ROSALINE. Well, then, I am the shooter. BOYET. And who is your deer? ROSALINE. If we choose | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021497 | by the horns, yourself come not near. Finely put on indeed! MARIA. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow. BOYET. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now? ROSALINE. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021498 | touching the hit it? BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinevere of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it. ROSALINE. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, Thou canst not hit it, my good man. BOYET. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, An I cannot, another | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021499 | can. [_Exeunt Rosaline._] COSTARD. By my troth, most pleasant. How both did fit it! MARIA. 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 int, to mete at, if it may be. MARIA. Wide o the bow hand! I | 60 | gutenberg |
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