138 Biron. What is a remuneration?
Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.
140 Biron. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.
Cost. I thank your worship: God be wi’ you!
Biron. Stay, slave; I must employ thee:
143 As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.
145 Cost. When would you have it done, sir?
Biron. This afternoon.
Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well.
Biron. Thou knowest not what it is.
Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
150 Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first.
Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.
Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this:
154 The princess comes to hunt here in the park,
155 And in her train there is a gentle lady;
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
And Rosaline they call her: ask for her;
And to her white hand see thou do commend
159 This seal’d-up counsel. There’s thy guerdon; go. [Giving him a shilling.
160 Cost. Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration, 161 a ’leven-pence farthing better: most sweet gardon! I 162 will do it, sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration! [Exit.
163 Biron. And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love’s whip;
165 A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o’er the boy;
168 Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
169 This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
170 This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
175 Sole imperator and great general
Of trotting ’paritors:—O my little heart!—
177 And I to be a corporal of his field,
And wear his colours like a tumbler’s hoop!
179 What! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
180 A woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
182 And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch’d that it may still go right!
Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all;
185 And, among three, to love the worst of all;
186 A wightly wanton with a velvet brow,
With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes;
Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed,
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:
190 And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty dreadful little might.
194 Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan:
195 Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit.
Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his horse so hard
002 Against the steep uprising of the hill?
003 Boyet. I know not; but I think it was not he.
Prin. Whoe’er a’ was, a’ showed a mounting mind.
005 Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch:
006 On Saturday we will return to France.
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
That we must stand and play the murderer in?
009 For. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
010 A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.
011 Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou speak’st the fairest shoot.
013 For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.
014 Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say no?
015 O short-lived pride! Not fair? alack for woe!
For. Yes, madam, fair.
Nay, never paint me now:
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
020 For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
Prin. See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit!
022 O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
023 A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,
025 And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
027 Not wounding, pity would not let me do’t;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
030 And, out of question, so it is sometimes,
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,
032 When, for fame’s sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart;
As I for praise alone now seek to spill
035 The poor deer’s blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
Only for praise sake, when they strive to be
Lords o’er their lords?
Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford
040 To any lady that subdues a lord.
Boyet. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
042 Cost. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?
045 Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.
Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
Prin. The thickest and the tallest.
Cost. The thickest and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.
049 An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
050 One o’ these maids’ girdles for your waist should be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.
Prin. What’s your will, sir? what’s your will?
Cost. I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one Lady Rosaline.
Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter! he’s a good friend of mine:
055 Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve;
Break up this capon.
I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.
060 Boyet [reads]. By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous and most 064 illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate 065 beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, Veni, vidi, 066 vici; which to annothanize in the vulgar,—O base and obscure 067 vulgar!—videlicet, He came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw, 068 two; overcame, three. Who came? the king: why did he come? to see: why did he see? to overcome: to whom came he? to the beggar: 070 what saw he? the beggar: who overcame he? the beggar. The conclusion 071 is victory: on whose side? the king’s. The captive is enriched: on whose side? the beggar’s. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose side? the king’s: no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison: thou the beggar; for so witnesseth 075 thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may: shall I enforce thy love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? titles; for thyself? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine, in the 080 dearest design of industry,Don Adriano de Armado.
Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
’Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey.
Submissive fall his princely feet before,
And he from forage will incline to play:
085 But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
087 Prin. What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?
What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?
Boyet. I am much deceived but I remember the style.
090 Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o’er it erewhile.
Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;
092 A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the prince and his bookmates.
Thou fellow, a word:
Who gave thee this letter?
I told you; my lord.
Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it?
095 From my lord to my lady.
Prin. From which lord to which lady?
Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France that he call’d Rosaline.
099 Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.
100 [To Ros.] Here, sweet, put up this: ’twill be thine another [Exeunt Princess and train.
101 Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?
Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Why, she that bears the bow.
Finely put off!
Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
105 Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on!
Ros. Well, then, I am the shooter.
And who is your deer?
108 Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
Finely put on, indeed!
110 Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
Boyet. But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?
Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?
115 Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.
Ros.
Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
119 Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
Boyet.
120 An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
121 An I cannot, another can. [Exeunt Ros. and Kath.
Cost. By my troth, most pleasant: how both did fit it!
123 Mar. A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it.
Boyet. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!
125 Let the mark have a prick in’t, to mete at, if it may be.
Mar. Wide o’ the bow-hand! i’ faith, your hand is out.
Cost. Indeed, a’ must shoot nearer, or he’ll ne’er hit the clout.
Boyet. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
129 Cost. Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.
130 Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.
Cost. She’s too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.
Boyet. I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Maria.
Cost. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown!
Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down!
135 O’ my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar wit!
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.
137 Armado o’ th’ one side,—O, a most dainty man!
To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!
139 To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a’ will swear!
140 And his page o’ t’ other side, that handful of wit!
141 Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
142 Sola, sola! [Shout-within. [Exit Costard, running.
Nath. Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience.
003 Hol. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe 004 as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear 005 of caelo, the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.
Nath. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: but, sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.
010 Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Dull. ’Twas not a haud credo; ’twas a pricket.
Hol. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, 015 his inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or, rather, unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.
Dull. I said the deer was not a haud credo; ’twas a pricket.
020 Hol. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus!
O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!
Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book;
he hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink:
024 his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only
025 sensible in the duller parts:
026 And such barren plants are set before us, that we thankful should be,
Which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts that do 027 fructify in us more than he.
028 For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,
029 So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school:
030 But omne bene, say I; being of an old father’s mind,
Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
032 Dull. You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit
What was a month old at Cain’s birth, that’s not five weeks old as yet?
034 Hol. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.
035 Dull. What is Dictynna?
036 Nath. A title to Phœbe, to Luna, to the moon.
Hol. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more,
038 And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score.
The allusion holds in the exchange.
040 Dull. ’Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.
Hol. God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion holds in the exchange.
044 Dull. And I say, the pollusion holds in the exchange; 045 for the moon is never but a month old: and I say beside that, ’twas a pricket that the princess killed.
047 Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph 048 on the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, 049 call I the deer the princess killed a pricket.
050 Nath. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it 051 shall please you to abrogate scurrility.
Hol. I will something affect the letter, for it argues facility.
054 The preyful princess pierced and prickd a pretty pleasing pricket;
055 Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting.
056 The dogs did yell: put L to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket;
Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.
058 If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores one sorel.
Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.
060 Nath. A rare talent!
Dull. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent.
063 Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, 065 ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of 066 pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But 068 the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.
070 Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you: and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you: you are a good member of the commonwealth.
074 Hol. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, they shall 075 want no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will 076 put it to them: but vir sapit qui pauca loquitur; a soul feminine saluteth us.
078 Jaq. God give you good morrow, master Parson.
079 Hol. Master Parson, quasi pers-on. An if one 080 should be pierced, which is the one?
081 Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead.
083 Hol. Piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a 085 swine: ’tis pretty; it is well.
086 Jaq. Good master Parson, be so good as read me this letter: it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado: I beseech you, read it.
089 Hol. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub 090 umbra Ruminat,—and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice;
092 Venetia, Venetia,
Chi non ti vede non ti pretia.
Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! who understandeth thee not, 095 loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather, as Horace says in his— What, my soul, verses?
Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.
099 Hol. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine.
Nath. [reads]
100 If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
101 Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow’d!
102 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll faithful prove;
103 Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow’d.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,
105 Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend:
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire:
110 Thy eye Jove’s lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
112 Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong,
113 That sings heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue.
Hol. You find not the apostrophas, and so miss the 115 accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden 117 cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso, but for smelling out the odoriferous 119 flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari is nothing: 120 so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directed to you?
Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the 123 strange queen’s lords.
125 Hol. I will overglance the superscript: ‘To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.’ I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of 128 the party writing to the person written unto: ‘Your ladyship’s 129 in all desired employment, Biron.’ Sir Nathaniel, this 130 Biron is one of the votaries with the king; and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen’s, which accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. 133 Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king: it may concern much. Stay not thy 135 compliment; I forgive thy duty: adieu.
Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!
137 Cost. Have with thee, my girl. [Exeunt Cost. and Jaq.
Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain father saith,—
140 Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir Nathaniel?
Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.
Hol. I do dine to-day at the father’s of a certain pupil 145 of mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I 147 have with the parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake 148 your ben venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor 150 invention: I beseech your society.
Nath. And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is the happiness of life.
Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it. [To Dull] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say 155 me nay: pauca verba. Away! the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. [Exeunt.
001 Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing 002 myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in a pitch,— 003 pitch that defiles: defile! a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool: well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is 005 as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: well 006 proved again o’ my side! I will not love: if I do, hang me; i’ faith, I will not. O, but her eye,—by this light, but for 009 her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, 010 I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to 012 be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o’ my sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet 015 clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one 017 with a paper: God give him grace to groan! [Stands aside.
King. Ay me!
Biron. [Aside] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid: 020 thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!
King [reads].