of a tapster. Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, air. 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. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three studied, ere you'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 cypher. Aside. 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. Sampson, 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 Sampson! strong-jointed Sampson! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Sampson'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 conplexion? 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, Sampson 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; By this you shall not know; 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 the 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. To be whipped; and yet a better love than my master. [Aside. 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 Jaquenetta. 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, Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. Arm. I know where it is situate. Arm. I love thee. [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. Cast. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall seeMoth. 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 false hood,) 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 Sampson was 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 sonnetteer. Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I. Another part of the same. A pavilion On serious business, craving quick despatch, and tents at a distance. Enter the Princess of France, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, and other Attendants. Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dear. est spirits: Consider who the king your father sends ; Of all perfections that a man may owe, but mean, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise; Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, Impórtunes personal conference with his grace. Haste, signify so much; while we attend, Like humbly-visag'd suitors, his high will. Boy. Proud of employment, willingly I go. [Exit. 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. Prin. 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 ; Well fitted in the 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 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 hu mours know. Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. Who are the rest? Kath. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd youth, Of all, that virtue love, for virtue lov'd: And much too little of that good I saw, Ros. Another of these students at that time Prin. God bless my ladies! are they all in love; That every one her own hath garnished With such bedecking ornaments of praise? Mar. Here comes Boyet. King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. Prin. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else. King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold; Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives a paper. King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away; For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Ros. How needless was it then Biron. You must not be so quick. Ros. 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such questions. Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. Ros. The hour that fools should ask. Biron. 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 in his wars. But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,) One part of Aquitain is bound to us, Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name, Prin. We arrest your word :- King. Satisfy me so. Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not come, Where that and other specialties are bound; King. It shall suffice me: at which interview, 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 my own heart. Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it. Biron. I would, you heard it groan. Biron. Sick at heart. Ros. Alack, let it blood. Biron. Would that do it good? Biron. Will you prick't with your eye? Boyet. The heir of Alençon, Rosaline her name. 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 de- Boyet. Not unlike, sir; that may be. VOL. I. 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: Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye hath disclos'd: I only have made a mouth of his eye, Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches? Boyet. What then, do you see? [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.-Another part of the same. Enter ARMADO and MOTH. Arm, Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing. [Singing. Moth. ConcolinelArm. 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. 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. Moth. A message well sympathised; a horse to be embassador for an ass! Arm. How mean'st 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 penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin belly-doub-I let, 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, men?) that most are affected to these. Arm. How hast thou purchased this expe- Moth. By my penny of observation. Moth. the hobby-horse is forgot. 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. What wilt thou prove? 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. Ha, ha! what sayest thou? Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious? Arm. I say, lead is slow. Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so: Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun? Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetorick! He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he: shoot thee at the swain. [Exit. Moth. Thump then, and I flee. By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. Re-enter MOTH and COSTARD. Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come,-thy l'envoy-begin. Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in 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 ? 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. |