Moth. No, no; O Lord, sir, no. Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender juvenal?

Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior.

ΙΟ

Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? Moth. Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal ?

Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. Arm. Pretty and apt.

Moth. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty? Arm. Thou pretty, because little.

Moth. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick.
Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master?
Arm. In thy condign praise.

Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise.
Arm. What, that an eel is ingenious?
Moth. That an eel is quick.

30

Arm. I do say thou art quick in answers:

thou heatest my blood.

Moth. I am answered, sir.

Arm. I love not to be crossed.

Moth. [Aside] He speaks the mere contrary; crosses love not him.

Arm. I have promised to study three years with the duke.

Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir.
Arm. Impossible.

How many is one thrice told?

40

Moth. Arm. I am ill at reckoning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.

Moth. You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.

Arm. I confess both: they are both the varnish of a complete man.

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. Arm.

It doth amount to one more than two. Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three. Arm. True.

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here 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.

Arm. A most fine figure!
Moth. To prove you a cipher.

59

Arm. 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 any French courtier for a new-devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh: methinks I should outswear Cupid. Comfort me, boy: what great men have been in love? Moth. Hercules, master.

Arm. Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear 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.

Arm. 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. Arm. Of what complexion?

81

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions? Moth. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.

Arm. 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. Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue, assist me !

ΙΟΙ

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty and pathetical!

Moth. If she be made of white and red,

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,

For still her cheeks possess the same
Which native she doth owe.

ITI

A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red.

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the 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.

Arm. 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.

Moth. [Aside] To be whipped; and yet a better love than my master.

Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.

Arm. I say, sing.

130

Moth. Forbear till this company be past. Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA. Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Costard safe: and you must suffer him to take no delight nor no penance; but a' must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at the park: she is allowed for the daywoman. Fare you well.

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid!
Faq. Man?

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge.
Jaq. That's hereby.

140

Arm. I know where it is situate.
Jaq. Lord, how wise you are!
Arm. I will tell thee wonders.
Jaq. With that face?
Arm. I love thee.

Jaq. So I heard you say.
Arm. And so, farewell.

Jaq. Fair weather after you!
Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away!

150 [Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be pardoned.

Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach.

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. Cost. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded.

Arm. Take away this villain; shut him up. Moth. Come, you transgressing slave; away! Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast, being loose. 161 Moth. No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt to prison.

Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall see. Moth. What shall some see?

Cost. 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. 171 [Exeunt Moth and Costard. Arm. 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 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 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 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.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same.

[Exit.

Prin. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,

20

Needs not the painted flourish of your praise:
Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye,
Not utter'd 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,
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,
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.
Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours
[Exit Boyet.

is so.

Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?
First Lord. Lord Longaville is one.
Prin.
Know you the man?
Mar. 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 esteem'd;
Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms:
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 match'd with too blunt a will;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still
wills

50

It should none spare that come within his power. Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so?

Mar. They say so most that most his humours know.

Prin. Such short-lived wits do wither they grow.

Who are the rest?

as

Prin.

Re-enter BoYET.

Now, what admittance, lord? 80 Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach;

And he and his competitors in oath
Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady,
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt:
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.
Here comes Navarre.

Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BIRON, and Attendants.

King Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. go Prin. '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

King. Madam, your father here doth intimate The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; 130 Being but the one half of an entire sum 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,

140

One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,
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.
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 by our father lent
Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is.
Dear princess, were not his requests so far
From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast
And go well satisfied to France again.

150

Prin. You do the king my father too much

Where that and other specialties are bound: To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

170

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: 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: To-morrow shall we visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace!

Dum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. [Exit. Long. I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?

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

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

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

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?
Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard.
Long. God's blessing on your beard!
Boyet. Good sir, be not offended.

She is an heir of Falconbridge.

Long. Nay, my choler is ended.

She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet. Not unlike, sir, that may be.

200

Prin. 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 impress'd,

Proud with his form, in his eye pride express'd:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair, 240
To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ;
Who, tendering their own worth from where they
were glass'd,

Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd:
His face's own margent did quote such amazes
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.
I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin. Come to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed.
Boyet. But to speak that in words which his
eye hath disclosed.

250

I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger and speakest
skilfully.

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather and learns news of him.

Ros. Then was Venus like her mother, for her

father is but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?

[Exit Long.

Biron. What's her name in the cap?

Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap.

210

Riron. Is she wedded or no?

Mar.

No.

And every jest but a word.

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word.

Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.

Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry. Boyet. And wherefore not ships? No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. 220 Mar. You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish the jest?

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. [Offering to kiss her. Mar. Not so, gentle beast: My lips are no common, though several they be. Boyet. Belonging to whom? Mar. To my fortunes and me. Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree:

ACT III.

SCENE I. The same.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

Moth. Concolinel.

[Singing.

Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How meanest thou? brawling in French? Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed

up

love by smelling love; with your hat penthouselike o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin-belly doublet like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of note-do you note me?-that most are affected to these.

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience?
Moth. By my penny of observation.
Arm. But O, but 0,-

Moth.

"The hobby-horse is forgot.'

30

Arm. Callest thou my love 'hobby-horse'? Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

Arm.

Almost I had.

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

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

40

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

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

Arm. Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter. 51

Moth. A message well sympathized; a horse to be ambassador for an ass.

Arm. 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. Arm. The way is but short: away! Moth. As swift as lead, sir.

Arm. The meaning, pretty ingenious?

Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

master, no.

60

Moth. Minimè, honest master; or rather,

Arm. I say lead is slow.

Moth.

You are too swift, sir, to say so: Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun? Arm. 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.
Arm. A most acute juvenal; volable 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 return'd.

70

Re-enter MOTH with Costard. Moth. A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin. Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy l'envoy; begin.

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve fin the mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! no l'envoy, no l'envoy; no salve, sir, but a plantain ! Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy

silly thought my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy, and the word l'envoy for a salve? 80 Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve?

Arm. No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain

Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it:

The fox, the ape and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral. Now the l'envoy.

Moth.
again.
Arm. The fox, the ape, the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
Moth. Until the goose came out of door,

I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral

90

And stay'd the odds by adding four. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy.

The fox, the ape and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. Arm. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four. Moth. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose: would you desire more?

ΙΟΙ

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose,

that's flat.

Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose:

Let me see; a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose. Arm. Come hither, come hither. How did

this argument begin?

Moth. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.

Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

Cost. True, and I for a plantain: thus came your argument in;

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

bought;

And he ended the market.

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

Moth. I will tell you sensibly.

Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: I will speak that l'envoy:

I Costard, running out, that was safely within, Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. Cost. O, marry me to one Frances: I smell some l'envoy, some goose, in this.

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person: thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.

Cost. True, true; and now you will be my purgation and let me loose.

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this significant [giving a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta: 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.