Love's Labour's Lost by William Shakespeare
Act 4 - Scene 1
The same.
Princess of France : Was that the king, that spurred his horse so hard
[p]Against the steep
uprising of the hill?
Boyet : I know not; but I think it was not he.
Princess of France : Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind.
[p]Well, lords, to-day we
shall have our dispatch:
[p]On Saturday we will return to
France.
[p]Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
[p]That we
must stand and play the murderer in?
Forester : Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
[p]A stand where you may make
the fairest shoot.
Princess of France : I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
[p]And thereupon thou
speak'st the fairest shoot.
Forester : Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.
Princess of France : What, what? first praise me and again say no?
[p]O short-lived pride!
Not fair? alack for woe!
Forester : Yes, madam, fair.
Princess of France : Nay, never paint me now:
[p]Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the
brow.
[p]Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:
[p]Fair
payment for foul words is more than due.
Forester : Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
Princess of France : See see, my beauty will be saved by merit!
[p]O heresy in fair, fit
for these days!
[p]A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair
praise.
[p]But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,
[p]And shooting
well is then accounted ill.
[p]Thus will I save my credit in the
shoot:
[p]Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
[p]If wounding,
then it was to show my skill,
[p]That more for praise than purpose
meant to kill.
[p]And out of question so it is sometimes,
[p]Glory
grows guilty of detested crimes,
[p]When, for fame's sake, for praise,
an outward part,
[p]We bend to that the working of the heart;
[p]As I
for praise alone now seek to spill
[p]The poor deer's blood, that my
heart means no ill.
Boyet : Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
[p]Only for praise sake,
when they strive to be
[p]Lords o'er their lords?
Princess of France : Only for praise: and praise we may afford
[p]To any lady that subdues
a lord.
Boyet : Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
Costard : God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?
Princess of France : Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.
Costard : Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
Princess of France : The thickest and the tallest.
Costard : The thickest and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.
[p]An your
waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
[p]One o' these maids'
girdles for your waist should be fit.
[p]Are not you the chief woman?
you are the thickest here.
Princess of France : What's your will, sir? what's your will?
Costard : I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one Lady Rosaline.
Princess of France : O, thy letter, thy letter! he's a good friend of mine:
[p]Stand aside,
good bearer. Boyet, you can carve;
[p]Break up this capon.
Boyet : I am bound to serve.
[p]This letter is mistook, it importeth none
here;
[p]It is writ to Jaquenetta.
Princess of France : We will read it, I swear.
[p]Break the neck of the wax, and every one
give ear.
Boyet : 'By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible;
[p]true, that thou
art beauteous; truth itself, that
[p]thou art lovely. More fairer than
fair, beautiful
[p]than beauteous, truer than truth itself,
have
[p]commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The
[p]magnanimous and
most illustrate king Cophetua set
[p]eye upon the pernicious and
indubitate beggar
[p]Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly
say,
[p]Veni, vidi, vici; which to annothanize in the
[p]vulgar,--O
base and obscure vulgar!--videlicet, He
[p]came, saw, and overcame: he
came, one; saw two;
[p]overcame, three. Who came? the king: why did
he
[p]come? to see: why did he see? to overcome: to
[p]whom came he?
to the beggar: what saw he? the
[p]beggar: who overcame he? the
beggar. The
[p]conclusion is victory: on whose side? the
king's.
[p]The captive is enriched: on whose side? the
[p]beggar's.
The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose
[p]side? the king's: no, on
both in one, or one in
[p]both. I am the king; for so stands the
comparison:
[p]thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy
lowliness.
[p]Shall I command thy love? I may: shall I enforce
[p]thy
love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? I
[p]will. What shalt thou
exchange for rags? robes;
[p]for tittles? titles; for thyself? me.
Thus,
[p]expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot,
[p]my
eyes on thy picture. and my heart on thy every
[p]part. Thine, in the
dearest design of industry,
[p]DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.'
[p]Thus dost
thou hear the Nemean lion roar
[p]'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that
standest as his prey.
[p]Submissive fall his princely feet
before,
[p]And he from forage will incline to play:
[p]But if thou
strive, poor soul, what art thou then?
[p]Food for his rage, repasture
for his den.
Princess of France : What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?
[p]What vane?
what weathercock? did you ever hear better?
Boyet : I am much deceived but I remember the style.
Princess of France : Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile.
Boyet : This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;
[p]A phantasime,
a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
[p]To the prince and his
bookmates.
Princess of France : Thou fellow, a word:
[p]Who gave thee this letter?
Costard : I told you; my lord.
Princess of France : To whom shouldst thou give it?
Costard : From my lord to my lady.
Princess of France : From which lord to which lady?
Costard : From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,
[p]To a lady of France that
he call'd Rosaline.
Princess of France : Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.
[p][To
ROSALINE]
[p]Here, sweet, put up this: 'twill be thine another day.
Boyet : Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?
Rosaline : Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet : Ay, my continent of beauty.
Rosaline : Why, she that bears the bow.
[p]Finely put off!
Boyet : My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
[p]Hang me by the
neck, if horns that year miscarry.
[p]Finely put on!
Rosaline : Well, then, I am the shooter.
Boyet : And who is your deer?
Rosaline : If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
[p]Finely put on,
indeed!
Maria : You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes
[p]at the brow.
Boyet : But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?
Rosaline : Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was
[p]a man when King
Pepin of France was a little boy, as
[p]touching the hit it?
Boyet : So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a
[p]woman when Queen
Guinover of Britain was a little
[p]wench, as touching the hit it.
Rosaline : Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
[p]Thou canst not hit it, my
good man.
Boyet : An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
[p]An I cannot, another can.
Costard : By my troth, most pleasant: how both did fit it!
Maria : A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it.
Boyet : A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!
[p]Let the mark
have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.
Maria : Wide o' the bow hand! i' faith, your hand is out.
Costard : 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.
Costard : Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.
Maria : Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.
Costard : She's too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.
Boyet : I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl.
Costard : By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown!
[p]Lord, Lord, how the
ladies and I have put him down!
[p]O' my troth, most sweet jests! most
incony
[p]vulgar wit!
[p]When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely,
as it
[p]were, so fit.
[p]Armado o' th' one side,--O, a most dainty
man!
[p]To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!
[p]To see
him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a'
[p]will swear!
[p]And his
page o' t' other side, that handful of wit!
[p]Ah, heavens, it is a
most pathetical nit!
[p]Sola, sola!
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Next: Act 4 - Scene 2
