Abbildungen der Seite

Long. Nay, my choler is ended:
She is a most sweet lady.
Boyet. Not unlike, sir; that


be. [Exit Long. BIRON. What's her name in the


Boyet. Catherine, by good hap.
BIRON. Is she wedded, or no ?
Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.
Biron. You are welcome, fir ; adieu !
Boyet. Farewel to me, fir, and welcome to you.

[Exit. Biron Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord.; Not a word with him but a jest.

Boyet. And every jest 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.
Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; shall that finifh the

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.

Mar. Not so, gentle beast;
My lips are no common, though several they be.

BOYET. Belonging to whom?
MAR. To my fortune and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling ; but, gentles, agree.
The civil war of wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd.

Boyet. If my observation, which very seldom lies, By the heart's still retorick, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected,

PRIN. With what?

BOYET. With that which we lovers entitle affected,
PRIN. Your reason?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough defire :
His heart, like an agat 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 eye-fight to be :
All senses to that sense did make their rapair,
To feel only looking on faireft of fair;
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in chryftal for some prince to buy ;
Who tendring their own worth from whence they were glasst,
Did point out to buy them, as long as you past.
Mis face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes :
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An' you give him for my fake but one loving kiss.

Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos’d.
Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye hath

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 speakeft 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?
MAR, No.
BOYET. What then, do you see ?
Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.
BOYET. You are too hard for me.



The park; near the palace,
Enter Armado and Moth.


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 feftinately hither : I must imploy him in a letter to my love.

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

Arm. How mean'ft thou, brawling in French ?

Moth. No, my compleat master; but to jigg off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids ; figh a note and fing a note; sometimes through the throat, as if you swallow'd love with singing love; sometimes through the nose, as if you snufft up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms croft 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 that would be betray'd without these, and make the men of note : do you note men, that are most affected to these?

Arm. How haft thou purchas'd this experience ?
Moth. By my pen of observation.
Arm. But O, but O.
Moth. The hobby-horse is forgot.

ARM. Call'st thou my love hobby-horse?

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and you 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?

Moth. A man, if I live: And this Bý, In, and out of, 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. FetçkEhither the swain, he must carry me a letter.

Moth. A message. well fympathis’d; a horse to be embassador for an ass.

Arm. Ha, ha; what say'st thou?

Moth. Marry, Sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very now-gated : but I go,

ARM. The way is but short; away.
Moth. As swift as lead, Sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and now?

Moth. Minimè, honeft master : or rather, master, no.
Arm. I say, lead is slow.

Moth. You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
Is that lead flow, Sir, which is fir’d from a gun?

ARM. Sweet smoak of rhetorick!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
Í shoot thee at the swain.
Moth. Thump then, and I Äy.

Arm. A most acute Juvenile, 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 return'd.

SCENE II. Re-enter Moth and Costard. Moth. A wonder, malter, here's a Costard broken in a

fhin. ARM. Some enigma, fome riddle; comę,--thy l'envoy

begin. Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no falve in the male, Sir. O Sir, plantain; a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy, or falve, Sir, but plantain.

Arm. By virtue, thou enforceft laughter; thy filly 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?

Motu. Doth the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a falve? ARM. No, page, it is an epilogue or discourse, to make

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

« ZurückWeiter »