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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?
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!
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,
By this you shall not know;
For still her cheeks possess the same,
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.
Moth. Forbear till this company be past.
Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQquenetta. Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Costard safe; and you must let him 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 day-woman. Fare you well.
Arm. I do betray myself with blushing.—Maid. Jaq. Man.
Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge.
Jaq. That's hereby.
Arm. I know where it is situate.
[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.
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.
[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 sonnets. Devise wit, write pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio. [Exit.
Enter the PRINCESS of France, ROSALINE, MARIA,
Consider whom the king your father sends,
Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise:
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
Tell him, the daughter of the king of France,
Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go.
Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.Who are the votaries, my loving lords, That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? 1 Lord. Longaville is one.
Know you the man?
Mar. 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 esteem'd;
Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so? Mar. They say so most that most his humours know.
Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they
grow. Who are the rest?
Kath. The young Dumaine, a well-accomplish'd youth,
Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd:
Ros. Another of these students at that time
Prin. God bless my ladies! are they all in love,
Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAINE, BIRON, and
King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of
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
Prin. I will be welcome then. Conduct me
King. Hear me, dear lady: I have sworn an oath.
King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.
But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold:
[Gives a paper.
To ask the question!
How needless was it, then,
Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.
Ros. The hour that fools should ask.
Biron. Nay, then will I begone.
King. Madam, your father here doth intimate
An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,
Dear princess, were not his requests so far
Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong,
You must not be so quick. Ros. 'Tis 'long of you, that spur me with such questions.
We arrest your word.
Where that and other specialties are bound:
King. It shall suffice me: at which interview, All liberal reason I will yield unto.
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand,
You may not come, fair princess, within my gates;
Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace!
King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place! [Exeunt KING and his train.
Biron. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.
Ros. Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.
Biron. I would, you heard it groan.
Ros. Is the fool sick?
Biron. Sick at the heart.
Ros. Alack! let it blood.
Biron. Would that do it good?
Ros. My physic says, ay.
Biron. Will you prick't with your eye?
Dum. Sir, I pray, you a word. What lady is that same?
Boyet. The heir of Alençon, Rosaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.
Long. I beseech you a word. What is she in
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?
Long. Nay, my choler is ended.
Boyet. Not unlike, sir: that may be. [Exit LONGAVILLE. Biron. What's her name, in the cap? Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. Biron. Is she wedded, or no? Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. Biron. O! you are welcome, sir. Adieu. Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. [Exit BIRON.-Ladies unmask. Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord: Not a word with him but a jest.
And every jest but a word. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his
Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,
This civil war of wits were much better used
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,
Prin. With what?
Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected.
Prin. Your reason?
Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire: His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they were glass'd,
Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. His face's own margin 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 sake but one loving kiss.
I only have made a mouth of his eye,
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st