001 Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits:

002 Consider who the king your father sends;

To whom he sends; and what’s his embassy:

Yourself, held precious in the world’s esteem,

005 To parley with the sole inheritor

Of all perfections that a man may owe,

Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight

Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.

Be now as prodigal of all dear grace.

010 As Nature was in making graces dear,

When she did starve the general world beside,

And prodigally gave them all to you.

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

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

019 In spending your wit in the praise of mine.

020 But now to task the tasker: good Boyet,

021 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:

025 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.

030 Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,

On serious business, craving quick dispatch,

032 Importunes personal conference with his Grace:

Haste, signify so much; while we attend,

034 Like humble-visaged suitors, his high will.

035 Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go.

036 Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. [Exit Boyet.

037 Who are the votaries, my loving lords,

That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?

039 First Lord. Lord Longaville is one.

Know you the man?

040 Mar. I know him, madam: at a marriage-feast,

Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir

Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized

043 In Normandy, saw I this Longaville:

044 A man of sovereign parts he is esteem’d;

045 Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms:

Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.

The only soil of his fair virtue’s gloss,

047 If virtue’s gloss will stain with any soil,

Is a sharp wit match’d with too blunt a will;

050 Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills

051 It should none spare that come within his power.

052 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 as they grow.

055 Who are the rest?

Kath. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish’d youth,

Of all that virtue love for virtue loved:

058 Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill;

For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,

060 And shape to win grace, though he had no wit.

061 I saw him at the Duke Alençon’s once;

And much too little of that good I saw

Is my report to his great worthiness.

064 Ros. Another of these students at that time

065 Was there with him, if I have heard a truth.

Biron they call him; but a merrier man,

Within the limit of becoming mirth,

I never spent an hour’s talk withal:

069 His eye begets occasion for his wit;

070 For every object that the one doth catch,

The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,

Which his fair tongue, conceit’s expositor,

Delivers in such apt and gracious words,

That aged ears play truant at his tales,

075 And younger hearings are quite ravished;

076 So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

Prin. God bless my ladies! are they all in love,

That every one her own hath garnished

With such bedecking ornaments of praise?

080 First Lord. Here comes Boyet.

Re-enter Boyet.

080 Now, what admittance, lord?

Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach;

And he and his competitors in oath

Were all address’d to meet you, gentle lady,

084 Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt:

085 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,

088 To let you enter his unpeeled house.

089 Here comes Navarre.

Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and Attendants.

090 King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.

King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.

095 Prin. I will be welcome, then: conduct me thither.

King. Hear me, dear lady; I have sworn an oath.

Prin. Our Lady help my lord! he’ll be forsworn.

King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.

099 Prin. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else.

100 King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.

Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,

Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.

I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping:

’Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,

105 And sin to break it.

But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold:

To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.

Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,

And suddenly resolve me in my suit.

110 King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.

Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away;

For you’ll prove perjured, if you make me stay.

Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

114 Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

115 Biron. I know you did.

116 Ros. How needless was it, then, to ask the question!

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, ’twill tire.

120 Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.

Biron. What time o’ day?

Ros. The hour that fools should ask.

Biron. Now fair befall your mask!

Ros. Fair fall the face it covers!

125 Biron. And send you many lovers!

Ros. Amen, so you be none.

Biron. Nay, then will I be gone.

King. Madam, your father here doth intimate

129 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

134 A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which,

135 One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,

Although not valued to the money’s worth.

If, then, the king your father will restore

138 But that one-half which is unsatisfied,

We will give up our right in Aquitaine,

140 And hold fair friendship with his Majesty.

But that, it seems, he little purposeth,

142 For here he doth demand to have repaid

143 A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,

144 On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,

145 To have his title live in Aquitaine;

Which we much rather had depart withal,

147 And have the money by our father lent,

Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is.

Dear princess, were not his requests so far

150 From reason’s yielding, your fair self should make

A yielding, ’gainst some reason, in my breast,

And go well satisfied to France again.

Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong,

And wrong the reputation of your name,

155 In so unseeming to confess receipt

Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.

King. I do protest I never heard of it;

158 And if you prove it, I’ll repay it back,

Or yield up Aquitaine.

We arrest your word.

160 Boyet, you can produce acquittances

For such a sum from special officers

Of Charles his father.

Satisfy me so.

Boyet. So please your Grace, the packet is not come,

Where that and other specialties are bound:

165 To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

King. It shall suffice me: at which interview

167 All liberal reason I will yield unto.

Meantime receive such welcome at my hand

As honour, without breach of honour, may

170 Make tender of to thy true worthiness:

171 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,

174 Though so denied fair harbour in my house.

175 Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell:

176 To-morrow shall we visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace!

178 King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place! [Exit.

179 Biron. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.

180 Ros. Pray you, do my commendations; I would be

glad to see it.

Biron. I would you heard it groan.

183 Ros. Is the fool sick?

Biron. Sick at the heart.

185 Ros. Alack, let it blood.

Biron. Would that do it good?

Ros. My physic says ‘ay’.

Biron. Will you prick’t with your eye?

189 Ros. No point, with my knife.

190 Biron. Now, God save thy life!

Ros. And yours from long living!

192 Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring.

Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?

194 Boyet. The heir of Alençon, Katharine her name.

195 Dum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. [Exit.

Long. I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?

197 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.

200 Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?

Boyet. Her mother’s, I have heard.

202 Long. God’s blessing on your beard!

Boyet. Good sir, be not offended.

She is an heir of Falconbridge.

205 Long. Nay, my choler is ended.

She is a most sweet lady.

207 Boyet. Not unlike, sir, that may be. [Exit Long.

208 Biron. What’s her name in the cap?

209 Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap.

210 Biron. Is she wedded or no?

Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.

212 Biron. You are welcome, sir: adieu.

213 Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. [Exit Biron.

Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord:

Not a word with him but a jest.

215 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.

218 Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry.

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?

221 Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. [Offering to kiss her.

Not so, gentle beast:

My lips are no common, though several they be.

Boyet. Belonging to whom?

To my fortunes and me.

224 Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree:

225 This civil war of wits were much better used

On Navarre and his book-men; for here ’tis abused.

227 Boyet. If my observation, which very seldom lies,

By the heart’s still rhetoric disclosed with eyes,

Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

230 Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle affected.

Prin. Your reason?

233 Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire

234 To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:

235 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;

243 Who, tendering their own worth from where they were glass’d,

244 Did point you to buy them, along as you pass’d:

245 His face’s own margent did quote such amazes,

That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.

247 I’ll give you Aquitaine, and all that is his,

An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.

249 Prin. Come to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed.

250 Boyet. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclosed.

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.

255 Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim.

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches?

No.

What then, do you see?

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.

You are too hard for me. [Exeunt.

Arm. The way is but short: away!

Moth. As swift as lead, sir.

053 Arm. The meaning, pretty ingenious?

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

055 Moth. Minimè, honest master; or rather, master, no.

Arm. I say lead is slow.

057 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.

060 Thump, then, and I flee. [Exit.

061 Arm. A most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace!

By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face:

063 Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.

My herald is return’d.

Re-enter Moth with Costard.

065 Moth. A wonder, master! here’s a Costard broken in a shin.

066 Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy l’envoy; begin.

075 Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not l’envoy a salve?

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

077 Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.

078 I will example it:

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

080 Were still at odds, being but three.

There’s the moral. Now the l’envoy.

Moth. I will add the l’envoy. Say the moral again.

Arm. The fox, the ape, the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three.

085 Moth. Until the goose came out of door,

086 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,

090 Were still at odds, being but three.

091 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?

095 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?

100 Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.

101 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.

105 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:

110 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.

Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

128 Cost. My sweet ounce of man’s flesh! my incony Jew! [Exit Moth.