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twg_000000021500 | faith, your hand is out. COSTARD. Indeed, a must shoot nearer, or hell neer hit the clout. BOYET. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in. COSTARD. Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin. MARIA. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips grow foul. COSTARD. Shes too hard for you at pricks, sir. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021501 | Challenge her to bowl. BOYET. I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl. [_Exeunt Boyet and Maria._] COSTARD. By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown! Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down! O my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit, When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021502 | were, so fit. Armado, o the one side, O, a most dainty man! To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan! To see him kiss his hand and how most sweetly he will swear! And his page o tother side, that handful of wit! Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit. [_Shout within._] Sola, sola! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021503 | [_Exit._] SCENE II. The same Enter Dull, Holofernes, the Pedant and Nathaniel. NATHANIEL. Very reverend sport, truly, and done in the testimony of a good conscience. HOLOFERNES. The deer was, as you know, _sanguis_, in blood, ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of _caelo_, the sky, the welkin, the heaven, and anon falleth | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021504 | like a crab on the face of _terra_, the soil, the land, the earth. NATHANIEL. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021505 | intimation! Yet a kind of insinuation, as it were, _in via_, in way, of explication; _facere_, as it were, replication, or rather, _ostentare_, to show, as it were, his inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather, unlettered, or ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my _haud credo_ for a deer. DULL. I said the deer was not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021506 | 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 of 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021507 | sensible in the duller parts. And such barren plants are set before us that we thankful should be Which we of taste and feeling arefor those parts that do fructify in us more than he. For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool, So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021508 | in a school. But, _omne bene_, say I, being of an old fathers mind; Many can brook the weather that love not the wind. DULL. You two are bookmen. Can you tell me by your wit What was a month old at Cains birth, thats not five weeks old as yet? HOLOFERNES. Dictynna, goodman Dull. Dictynna, goodman Dull. DULL. What | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021509 | is Dictynna? NATHANIEL. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021510 | 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. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021511 | Princess killed a pricket. NATHANIEL. _Perge_, good Master Holofernes, _perge_, so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021512 | sore, then sorel jumps from thicket; Or pricket sore, or else sorel, the people fall a-hooting. If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores o sorel. Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but one more L. NATHANIEL. A rare talent! DULL. [_Aside_.] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021513 | 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, 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021514 | 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, 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021515 | I will put it to them. But, _vir sapit qui pauca loquitur_. A soul feminine saluteth us. Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 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 to a hogshead. HOLOFERNES. Of piercing a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021516 | hogshead! A good lustre or 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 me this letter. It was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado. I beseech you read it. [_Giving a letter to Nathaniel._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021517 | HOLOFERNES. _Fauste precor, gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra Ruminat_ and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan, I may speak of 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. [_He sings_.] Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. Under pardon, sir, what | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021518 | are the contents? Or rather as Horace says in hisWhat, my soul, verses? NATHANIEL. Ay, sir, and very learned. HOLOFERNES. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse, _Lege, domine_. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021519 | Ill faithful prove. Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021520 | without wonder; Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire. Thy eye Joves 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 heavens praise with such an earthly tongue._ HOLOFERNES. You find not the apostrophus, and so miss | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021521 | the accent. Let me supervise the canzonet. [_He 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 for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? _Imitari_ is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the ape | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021522 | his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directed to you? JAQUENETTA. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, one of the strange queens 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021523 | writing to the person written unto: _Your Ladyships 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 queens, which accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet, deliver this paper into the royal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021524 | 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. [_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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021525 | not me of the Father, I do fear colourable colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir Nathaniel? NATHANIEL. Marvellous well for the pen. HOLOFERNES. I do dine today at the fathers of a certain pupil of mine, where if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021526 | my 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 text, is the happiness of life. HOLOFERNES. And certes, the text most infallibly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021527 | 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._] SCENE III. The same Enter Berowne with a paper in his hand, alone. BEROWNE. The King, he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself. They have pitched | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021528 | a toil; I am toiling in a pitch, pitch that defiles. Defile! A foul word! Well, set thee down, sorrow, for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax. It kills sheep, it kills me, I a sheep. Well proved again, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021529 | o my side! I will not love; if I do, hang me! I faith, I will not. O, but her eye! By this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love, and it hath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021530 | taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy. And here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o my sonnets already. The clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it. Sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021531 | in. Here comes one with a paper. God give him grace to groan! [_He stands aside._] Enter the King with a paper. KING. Ay me! BEROWNE. [_Aside_.] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid, thou hast thumped him with thy birdbolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets! KING. [_Reads_.] [_So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not To those | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021532 | fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows. Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright Through the transparent bosom of the deep As doth thy face, through tears of mine give light. Thou shinst in every tear that I do weep. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021533 | No drop but as a coach doth carry thee; So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the tears that swell in me, And they thy glory through my grief will show. But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. O queen of queens, how far dost thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021534 | excel No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell._ How shall she know my griefs? Ill drop the paper. Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? [_Steps aside._] What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, ear. Enter Longaville with a paper. BEROWNE. [_Aside_.] Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear! LONGAVILLE. Ay me! I am forsworn. BEROWNE. Why, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021535 | he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers. KING. In love, I hope. Sweet fellowship in shame. BEROWNE. One drunkard loves another of the name. LONGAVILLE. Am I the first that have been perjured so? BEROWNE. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know. Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, The shape of loves | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021536 | Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity. LONGAVILLE. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move. O sweet Maria, empress of my love, These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. BEROWNE. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupids hose. Disfigure not his shop. LONGAVILLE. This same shall go. [_He reads the sonnet._] _Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021537 | eye, Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, Persuade my heart to this false perjury? Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. A woman I forswore, but I will prove, Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee. My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; Thy grace being gained, cures all disgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021538 | breath a vapour is. Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, Exhalst this vapour-vow; in thee it is. If broken then, it is no fault of mine; If by me broke, what fool is not so wise To lose an oath to win a paradise?_ BEROWNE. This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity, A | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021539 | green goose a goddess. Pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend! We are much out o th way. LONGAVILLE. By whom shall I send this?Company! Stay. [_He steps aside._] Enter Dumaine with a paper. BEROWNE. All hid, all hid, an old infant play. Like a demigod here sit I in the sky, And wretched fools secrets heedfully oer-eye. More | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021540 | sacks to the mill. O heavens, I have my wish. Dumaine transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish! DUMAINE. O most divine Kate! BEROWNE. O most profane coxcomb! DUMAINE. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye! BEROWNE. By earth, she is but corporal. There you lie. DUMAINE. Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted. BEROWNE. An amber-coloured raven was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021541 | well noted. DUMAINE. As upright as the cedar. BEROWNE. Stoop, I say. Her shoulder is with child. DUMAINE. As fair as day. BEROWNE. Ay, as some days, but then no sun must shine. DUMAINE. O, that I had my wish! LONGAVILLE. And I had mine! KING. And I mine too, good Lord! BEROWNE. Amen, so I had mine. Is not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021542 | that a good word? DUMAINE. I would forget her; but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remembered be. BEROWNE. A fever in your blood? Why, then incision Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision! DUMAINE. Once more Ill read the ode that I have writ. BEROWNE. Once more Ill mark how love can vary wit. DUMAINE. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021543 | [_Dumaine reads his sonnet_.] _On a dayalack the day! Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air. Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, can passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wished himself the heavens breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021544 | But, alack, my hand is sworn Neer to pluck thee from thy thorn. Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me, That I am forsworn for thee; Thou for whom Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were, And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love._ This | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021545 | will I send, and something else more plain, That shall express my true loves fasting pain. O, would the King, Berowne and Longaville Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill, Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note, For none offend where all alike do dote. LONGAVILLE. [_Comes forward_.] Dumaine, thy love is far from charity, That in loves grief | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021546 | desirst society. You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, To be oerheard and taken napping so. KING. [_Comes forward_.] Come, sir, you blush. As his, your case is such. You chide at him, offending twice as much. You do not love Maria? Longaville Did never sonnet for her sake compile, Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021547 | His loving bosom to keep down his heart. I have been closely shrouded in this bush, And marked you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion, Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion. Ay, me! says one. O Jove! the other cries. One, her hairs were gold; crystal the others | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021548 | eyes. [_To Longaville_.] You would for paradise break faith and troth; [_To Dumaine_.] And Jove, for your love would infringe an oath. What will Berowne say when that he shall hear Faith infringed which such zeal did swear? How will he scorn, how will he spend his wit! How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it! For all the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021549 | wealth that ever I did see, I would not have him know so much by me. BEROWNE. [_Comes forward_.] Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me. Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove These worms for loving, that art most in love? Your eyes do make no coaches; in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021550 | your tears There is no certain princess that appears. Youll not be perjured, tis a hateful thing: Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting! But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not, All three of you, to be thus much oershot? You found his mote, the King your mote did see; But I a beam do find in each | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021551 | of three. O, what a scene of foolery have I seen, Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen! O me, with what strict patience have I sat, To see a king transformed to a gnat! To see great Hercules whipping a gig, And profound Solomon to tune a jig, And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021552 | critic Timon laugh at idle toys. Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumaine? And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? And where my lieges? All about the breast? A caudle, ho! KING. Too bitter is thy jest. Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view? BEROWNE. Not you to me, but I betrayed by you. I that am honest, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021553 | I that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in. I am betrayed by keeping company With men like you, men of inconstancy. When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? Or groan for Joan? Or spend a minutes time In pruning me? When shall you hear that I Will praise a hand, a foot, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021554 | a face, an eye, A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, A leg, a limb KING. Soft! Whither away so fast? A true man, or a thief, that gallops so? BEROWNE. I post from love. Good lover, let me go. Enter Jaquenetta, with a letter, and Costard. JAQUENETTA. God bless the King! KING. What present hast thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021555 | there? COSTARD. Some certain treason. KING. What makes treason here? COSTARD. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. KING. If it mar nothing neither, The treason and you go in peace away together. JAQUENETTA. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read. Our person misdoubts it; twas treason, he said. KING. Berowne, read it over. [_Berowne reads the letter._] Where hadst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021556 | thou it? JAQUENETTA. Of Costard. KING. Where hadst thou it? COSTARD. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. [_Berowne tears the letter._] KING. How now, what is in you? Why dost thou tear it? BEROWNE. A toy, my liege, a toy. Your Grace needs not fear it. LONGAVILLE. It did move him to passion, and therefore lets hear it. DUMAINE. [_Picking up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021557 | the pieces_.] It is Berownes writing, and here is his name. BEROWNE. [_To Costard_.] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame. Guilty, my lord, guilty. I confess, I confess. KING. What? BEROWNE. That you three fools lacked me fool to make up the mess. He, he, and youand you, my liegeand I Are pick-purses in love, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021558 | and we deserve to die. O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. DUMAINE. Now the number is even. BEROWNE. True, true, we are four. Will these turtles be gone? KING. Hence, sirs, away! COSTARD. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay. [_Exeunt Costard and Jaquenetta._] BEROWNE. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021559 | As true we are as flesh and blood can be. The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face; Young blood doth not obey an old decree. We cannot cross the cause why we were born; Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn. KING. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine? BEROWNE. Did they? quoth | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021560 | you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline That, like a rude and savage man of Ind, At the first opning of the gorgeous east, Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind, Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye Dares look upon the heaven of her brow That is not blinded by her majesty? KING. What zeal, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021561 | what fury hath inspired thee now? My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. BEROWNE. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. O, but for my love, day would turn to night! Of all complexions the culled sovereignty Do meet as at a fair in her fair cheek, Where several | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021562 | worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not. To things of sale a sellers praise belongs. She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot. A withered hermit, five-score winters worn, Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye. Beauty | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021563 | doth varnish age, as if new born, And gives the crutch the cradles infancy. O, tis the sun that maketh all things shine! KING. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. BEROWNE. Is ebony like her? O word divine! A wife of such wood were felicity. O, who can give an oath? Where is a book? That I may | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021564 | swear beauty doth beauty lack If that she learn not of her eye to look. No face is fair that is not full so black. KING. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons and the school of night; And beautys crest becomes the heavens well. BEROWNE. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light. O, if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021565 | in black my ladys brows be decked, It mourns that painting and usurping hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect; And therefore is she born to make black fair. Her favour turns the fashion of the days, For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. DUMAINE. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021566 | To look like her are chimney-sweepers black. LONGAVILLE. And since her time are colliers counted bright. KING. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack. DUMAINE. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. BEROWNE. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, For fear their colours should be washed away. KING. Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021567 | plain, Ill find a fairer face not washed today. BEROWNE. Ill prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. KING. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. DUMAINE. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. LONGAVILLE. [_Showing his shoe_.] Look, heres thy love, my foot and her face see. BEROWNE. O, if the streets were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021568 | paved with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. DUMAINE. O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies The street should see as she walked over head. KING. But what of this? Are we not all in love? BEROWNE. Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn. KING. Then leave this chat, and, good Berowne, now | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021569 | prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. DUMAINE. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil. LONGAVILLE. O, some authority how to proceed. Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. DUMAINE. Some salve for perjury. BEROWNE. O, tis more than need. Have at you, then, affections men-at-arms. Consider what you first did swear unto: To fast, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021570 | to study, and to see no woman Flat treason gainst the kingly state of youth. Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young, And abstinence engenders maladies. O, we have made a vow to study, lords, And in that vow we have forsworn our books; For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, In leaden contemplation have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021571 | found out Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes Of beautys tutors have enriched you with? Other slow arts entirely keep the brain, And therefore, finding barren practisers, Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil; But love, first learned in a ladys eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain, But with the motion of all elements Courses as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021572 | swift as thought in every power, And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye. A lovers eyes will gaze an eagle blind. A lovers ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopped. Loves feeling is more soft and sensible Than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021573 | are the tender horns of cockled snails. Loves tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. For valour, is not Love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as Sphinx, as sweet and musical As bright Apollos lute, strung with his hair. And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Make heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021574 | durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were tempered with Loves sighs. O, then his lines would ravish savage ears And plant in tyrants mild humility. From womens eyes this doctrine I derive. They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish, all the world; Else | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021575 | none at all in aught proves excellent. Then fools you were these women to forswear, Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. For wisdoms sake, a word that all men love, Or for loves sake, a word that loves all men, Or for mens sake, the authors of these women, Or womens sake, by whom we men are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021576 | men, Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. It is religion to be thus forsworn, For charity itself fulfils the law, And who can sever love from charity? KING. Saint Cupid, then, and, soldiers, to the field! BEROWNE. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords! Pell-mell, down with them! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021577 | But be first advised In conflict that you get the sun of them. LONGAVILLE. Now to plain dealing. Lay these glozes by. Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? KING. And win them too. Therefore let us devise Some entertainment for them in their tents. BEROWNE. First, from the park let us conduct them thither. Then homeward every | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021578 | man attach the hand Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon We will with some strange pastime solace them, Such as the shortness of the time can shape; For revels, dances, masques, and merry hours Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. KING. Away, away! No time shall be omitted That will betime and may by us be fitted. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021579 | BEROWNE. _Allons! allons!_ Sowed cockle reaped no corn, And justice always whirls in equal measure. Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn; If so, our copper buys no better treasure. [_Exeunt._] ACT V SCENE I. The King of Navarres park Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel and Dull. HOLOFERNES. _Satis quod sufficit._ NATHANIEL. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021580 | at dinner have been sharp and sententious, pleasant without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this _quondam_ day with a companion of the Kings, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado. HOLOFERNES. _Novi hominem tanquam te._ His humour is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021581 | his eye ambitious, his gait majestical and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it. NATHANIEL. A most singular and choice epithet. [_Draws out his table-book._] HOLOFERNES. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021582 | argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes, such insociable and point-devise companions, such rackers of orthography, as to speak dout _sine_ b, when he should say doubt, det when he should pronounce debt_d, e, b, t_, not _d, e, t_. He clepeth a calf cauf, half hauf; neighbour _vocatur_ nebour, neigh abbreviated ne. This is abhominable, which he would call abominable. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021583 | It insinuateth me of insanie. _Ne intelligis, domine?_ To make frantic, lunatic. NATHANIEL. _Laus Deo, bone intelligo._ HOLOFERNES. _Bone? Bone_ for _bene?_ Priscian a little scratched; twill serve. Enter Armado, Moth and Costard. NATHANIEL. _Videsne quis venit?_ HOLOFERNES. _Video, et gaudeo._ ARMADO. _Chirrah!_ HOLOFERNES. _Quare_ chirrah, not sirrah? ARMADO. Men of peace, well encountered. HOLOFERNES. Most military sir, salutation. MOTH. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021584 | [_Aside to Costard_.] They have been at a great feast of languages and stolen the scraps. COSTARD. O, they have lived long on the almsbasket of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou art not so long by the head as _honorificabilitudinitatibus_. Thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. MOTH. Peace! The peal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021585 | begins. ARMADO. [_To Holofernes_.] Monsieur, are you not lettered? MOTH. Yes, yes, he teaches boys the hornbook. What is _a, b_, spelt backward with the horn on his head? HOLOFERNES. _Ba, pueritia_, with a horn added. MOTH. _Ba_, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning. HOLOFERNES. _Quis, quis_, thou consonant? MOTH. The third of the five vowels, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021586 | if you repeat them; or the fifth, if I. HOLOFERNES. I will repeat them: _a, e, i_ MOTH. The sheep. The other two concludes it: _o, u_. ARMADO. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch, a quick venue of wit! Snip, snap, quick and home! It rejoiceth my intellect. True wit! MOTH. Offered by a child | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021587 | to an old manwhich is wit-old. HOLOFERNES. What is the figure? What is the figure? MOTH. Horns. HOLOFERNES. Thou disputes like an infant. Go whip thy gig. MOTH. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your infamy _unum cita_. A gig of a cuckolds horn. COSTARD. An I had but one penny in the world, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021588 | thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. O, an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me! Go to, thou hast it _ad dunghill_, at the fingers ends, as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021589 | they say. HOLOFERNES. O, I smell false Latin! _Dunghill_ for _unguem_. ARMADO. Arts-man, preambulate. We will be singuled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the top of the mountain? HOLOFERNES. Or _mons_, the hill. ARMADO. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. HOLOFERNES. I do, _sans question_. ARMADO. Sir, it is the Kings most | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021590 | sweet pleasure and affection to congratulate the Princess at her pavilion in the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. HOLOFERNES. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon. The word is well culled, chose, sweet, and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. ARMADO. Sir, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021591 | the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do assure ye, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy; I beseech thee, apparel thy head. And among other importunate and most serious designs, and of great import indeed, toobut let that pass. For I must tell thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021592 | it will please his Grace, by the world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder and with his royal finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio. But, sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable! Some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021593 | hath seen the world. But let that pass. The very all of all isbut, sweet heart, I do implore secrecythat the King would have me present the Princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden breaking-out of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021594 | mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your assistance. HOLOFERNES. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies. Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some show in the posterior of this day, to be rendered by our assistance, the Kings command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman, before | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021595 | the Princess, I say, none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies. NATHANIEL. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them? HOLOFERNES. Joshua, yourself; myself; and this gallant gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus. This swain, because of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules. ARMADO. Pardon, sir; error. He is not quantity enough | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021596 | for that Worthys thumb; he is not so big as the end of his club. HOLOFERNES. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in minority. His enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose. MOTH. An excellent device! So, if any of the audience hiss, you may cry Well done, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021597 | Hercules, now thou crushest the snake! That is the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it. ARMADO. For the rest of the Worthies? HOLOFERNES. I will play three myself. MOTH. Thrice-worthy gentleman! ARMADO. Shall I tell you a thing? HOLOFERNES. We attend. ARMADO. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021598 | beseech you, follow. HOLOFERNES. _Via_, goodman Dull! Thou has spoken no word all this while. DULL. Nor understood none neither, sir. HOLOFERNES. _Allons!_ we will employ thee. DULL. Ill make one in a dance, or so; or I will play on the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay. HOLOFERNES. Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021599 | away. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. The same. Before the Princesss pavilion Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Katharine and Maria. PRINCESS. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, If fairings come thus plentifully in. A lady walled about with diamonds! Look you what I have from the loving King. ROSALINE. Madam, came nothing else along with that? PRINCESS. Nothing but this? | 60 | gutenberg |
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