Love's Labour's Lost by William Shakespeare

Act 5 - Scene 2

The same.

Princess of France : Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, [p]If fairings come thus
plentifully in: [p]A lady wall'd about with diamonds! [p]Look you what
I have from the loving king.

Rosaline : Madame, came nothing else along with that?

Princess of France : Nothing but this! yes, as much love in rhyme [p]As would be cramm'd up
in a sheet of paper, [p]Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and
all, [p]That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.

Rosaline : That was the way to make his godhead wax, [p]For he hath been five
thousand years a boy.

Katharine : Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

Rosaline : You'll ne'er be friends with him; a' kill'd your sister.

Katharine : He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; [p]And so she died: had she
been light, like you, [p]Of such a merry, nimble, stirring
spirit, [p]She might ha' been a grandam ere she died: [p]And so may
you; for a light heart lives long.

Rosaline : What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?

Katharine : A light condition in a beauty dark.

Rosaline : We need more light to find your meaning out.

Katharine : You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff; [p]Therefore I'll darkly
end the argument.

Rosaline : Look what you do, you do it still i' the dark.

Katharine : So do not you, for you are a light wench.

Rosaline : Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore light.

Katharine : You weigh me not? O, that's you care not for me.

Rosaline : Great reason; for 'past cure is still past care.'

Princess of France : Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd. [p]But Rosaline, you have
a favour too: [p]Who sent it? and what is it?

Rosaline : I would you knew: [p]An if my face were but as fair as yours, [p]My
favour were as great; be witness this. [p]Nay, I have verses too, I
thank Biron: [p]The numbers true; and, were the numbering too, [p]I
were the fairest goddess on the ground: [p]I am compared to twenty
thousand fairs. [p]O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!

Princess of France : Any thing like?

Rosaline : Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.

Princess of France : Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.

Katharine : Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

Rosaline : 'Ware pencils, ho! let me not die your debtor, [p]My red dominical, my
golden letter: [p]O, that your face were not so full of O's!

Katharine : A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows.

Princess of France : But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumain?

Katharine : Madam, this glove.

Princess of France : Did he not send you twain?

Katharine : Yes, madam, and moreover [p]Some thousand verses of a faithful
lover, [p]A huge translation of hypocrisy, [p]Vilely compiled,
profound simplicity.

Maria : This and these pearls to me sent Longaville: [p]The letter is too long
by half a mile.

Princess of France : I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart [p]The chain were longer
and the letter short?

Maria : Ay, or I would these hands might never part.

Princess of France : We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.

Rosaline : They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. [p]That same Biron I'll
torture ere I go: [p]O that I knew he were but in by the week! [p]How
I would make him fawn and beg and seek [p]And wait the season and
observe the times [p]And spend his prodigal wits in bootless
rhymes [p]And shape his service wholly to my hests [p]And make him
proud to make me proud that jests! [p]So perttaunt-like would I
o'ersway his state [p]That he should be my fool and I his fate.

Princess of France : None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd, [p]As wit turn'd
fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd, [p]Hath wisdom's warrant and the help
of school [p]And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.

Rosaline : The blood of youth burns not with such excess [p]As gravity's revolt
to wantonness.

Maria : Folly in fools bears not so strong a note [p]As foolery in the wise,
when wit doth dote; [p]Since all the power thereof it doth apply [p]To
prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

Princess of France : Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.

Boyet : O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her grace?

Princess of France : Thy news Boyet?

Boyet : Prepare, madam, prepare! [p]Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted
are [p]Against your peace: Love doth approach disguised, [p]Armed in
arguments; you'll be surprised: [p]Muster your wits; stand in your own
defence; [p]Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

Princess of France : Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they [p]That charge their breath
against us? say, scout, say.

Boyet : Under the cool shade of a sycamore [p]I thought to close mine eyes
some half an hour; [p]When, lo! to interrupt my purposed
rest, [p]Toward that shade I might behold addrest [p]The king and his
companions: warily [p]I stole into a neighbour thicket by, [p]And
overheard what you shall overhear, [p]That, by and by, disguised they
will be here. [p]Their herald is a pretty knavish page, [p]That well
by heart hath conn'd his embassage: [p]Action and accent did they
teach him there; [p]'Thus must thou speak,' and 'thus thy body
bear:' [p]And ever and anon they made a doubt [p]Presence majestical
would put him out, [p]'For,' quoth the king, 'an angel shalt thou
see; [p]Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.' [p]The boy replied,
'An angel is not evil; [p]I should have fear'd her had she been a
devil.' [p]With that, all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the
shoulder, [p]Making the bold wag by their praises bolder: [p]One
rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd and swore [p]A better speech was
never spoke before; [p]Another, with his finger and his
thumb, [p]Cried, 'Via! we will do't, come what will come;' [p]The
third he caper'd, and cried, 'All goes well;' [p]The fourth turn'd on
the toe, and down he fell. [p]With that, they all did tumble on the
ground, [p]With such a zealous laughter, so profound, [p]That in this
spleen ridiculous appears, [p]To cheque their folly, passion's solemn
tears.

Princess of France : But what, but what, come they to visit us?

Boyet : They do, they do: and are apparell'd thus. [p]Like Muscovites or
Russians, as I guess. [p]Their purpose is to parle, to court and
dance; [p]And every one his love-feat will advance [p]Unto his several
mistress, which they'll know [p]By favours several which they did
bestow.

Princess of France : And will they so? the gallants shall be task'd; [p]For, ladies, we
shall every one be mask'd; [p]And not a man of them shall have the
grace, [p]Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. [p]Hold, Rosaline,
this favour thou shalt wear, [p]And then the king will court thee for
his dear; [p]Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, [p]So
shall Biron take me for Rosaline. [p]And change your favours too; so
shall your loves [p]Woo contrary, deceived by these removes.

Rosaline : Come on, then; wear the favours most in sight.

Katharine : But in this changing what is your intent?

Princess of France : The effect of my intent is to cross theirs: [p]They do it but in
mocking merriment; [p]And mock for mock is only my intent. [p]Their
several counsels they unbosom shall [p]To loves mistook, and so be
mock'd withal [p]Upon the next occasion that we meet, [p]With visages
displayed, to talk and greet.

Rosaline : But shall we dance, if they desire to't?

Princess of France : No, to the death, we will not move a foot; [p]Nor to their penn'd
speech render we no grace, [p]But while 'tis spoke each turn away her
face.

Boyet : Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart, [p]And quite divorce
his memory from his part.

Princess of France : Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt [p]The rest will ne'er come in,
if he be out [p]There's no such sport as sport by sport
o'erthrown, [p]To make theirs ours and ours none but our own: [p]So
shall we stay, mocking intended game, [p]And they, well mock'd, depart
away with shame.

Boyet : The trumpet sounds: be mask'd; the maskers come. [p][The Ladies
mask] [p][Enter Blackamoors with music; MOTH; FERDINAND,] [p]BIRON,
LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, in Russian habits, [p]and masked]

Moth : All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!--

Boyet : Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.

Moth : A holy parcel of the fairest dames. [p][The Ladies turn their backs to
him] [p]That ever turn'd their--backs--to mortal views!

Biron : [Aside to MOTH] Their eyes, villain, their eyes!

Moth : That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views!--Out--

Boyet : True; out indeed.

Moth : Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe [p]Not to behold--

Biron : [Aside to MOTH] Once to behold, rogue.

Moth : Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, [p]--with your sun-beamed
eyes--

Boyet : They will not answer to that epithet; [p]You were best call it
'daughter-beamed eyes.'

Moth : They do not mark me, and that brings me out.

Biron : Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue!

Rosaline : What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet: [p]If they do
speak our language, 'tis our will: [p]That some plain man recount
their purposes [p]Know what they would.

Boyet : What would you with the princess?

Biron : Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

Rosaline : What would they, say they?

Boyet : Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

Rosaline : Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.

Boyet : She says, you have it, and you may be gone.

Ferdinand : Say to her, we have measured many miles [p]To tread a measure with her
on this grass.

Boyet : They say, that they have measured many a mile [p]To tread a measure
with you on this grass.

Rosaline : It is not so. Ask them how many inches [p]Is in one mile: if they have
measured many, [p]The measure then of one is easily told.

Boyet : If to come hither you have measured miles, [p]And many miles, the
princess bids you tell [p]How many inches doth fill up one mile.

Biron : Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.

Boyet : She hears herself.

Rosaline : How many weary steps, [p]Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, [p]Are
number'd in the travel of one mile?

Biron : We number nothing that we spend for you: [p]Our duty is so rich, so
infinite, [p]That we may do it still without accompt. [p]Vouchsafe to
show the sunshine of your face, [p]That we, like savages, may worship
it.

Rosaline : My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

Ferdinand : Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! [p]Vouchsafe, bright
moon, and these thy stars, to shine, [p]Those clouds removed, upon our
watery eyne.

Rosaline : O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; [p]Thou now request'st but
moonshine in the water.

Ferdinand : Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one change. [p]Thou bid'st me
beg: this begging is not strange.

Rosaline : Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon. [p][Music plays] [p]Not
yet! no dance! Thus change I like the moon.

Ferdinand : Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?

Rosaline : You took the moon at full, but now she's changed.

Ferdinand : Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. [p]The music plays;
vouchsafe some motion to it.

Rosaline : Our ears vouchsafe it.

Ferdinand : But your legs should do it.

Rosaline : Since you are strangers and come here by chance, [p]We'll not be nice:
take hands. We will not dance.

Ferdinand : Why take we hands, then?

Rosaline : Only to part friends: [p]Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure
ends.

Ferdinand : More measure of this measure; be not nice.

Rosaline : We can afford no more at such a price.

Ferdinand : Prize you yourselves: what buys your company?

Rosaline : Your absence only.

Ferdinand : That can never be.

Rosaline : Then cannot we be bought: and so, adieu; [p]Twice to your visor, and
half once to you.

Ferdinand : If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.

Rosaline : In private, then.

Ferdinand : I am best pleased with that.

Biron : White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.

Princess of France : Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.

Biron : Nay then, two treys, and if you grow so nice, [p]Metheglin, wort, and
malmsey: well run, dice! [p]There's half-a-dozen sweets.

Princess of France : Seventh sweet, adieu: [p]Since you can cog, I'll play no more with
you.

Biron : One word in secret.

Princess of France : Let it not be sweet.

Biron : Thou grievest my gall.

Princess of France : Gall! bitter.

Biron : Therefore meet.

Dumain : Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?

Maria : Name it.

Dumain : Fair lady,--

Maria : Say you so? Fair lord,-- [p]Take that for your fair lady.

Dumain : Please it you, [p]As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

Katharine : What, was your vizard made without a tongue?

Longaville : I know the reason, lady, why you ask.

Katharine : O for your reason! quickly, sir; I long.

Longaville : You have a double tongue within your mask, [p]And would afford my
speechless vizard half.

Katharine : Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf?

Longaville : A calf, fair lady!

Katharine : No, a fair lord calf.

Longaville : Let's part the word.

Katharine : No, I'll not be your half [p]Take all, and wean it; it may prove an
ox.

Longaville : Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! [p]Will you give
horns, chaste lady? do not so.

Katharine : Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

Longaville : One word in private with you, ere I die.

Katharine : Bleat softly then; the butcher hears you cry.

Boyet : The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen [p]As is the razor's edge
invisible, [p]Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen, [p]Above the
sense of sense; so sensible [p]Seemeth their conference; their
conceits have wings [p]Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought,
swifter things.

Rosaline : Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.

Biron : By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!

Ferdinand : Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.

Princess of France : Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits. [p][Exeunt FERDINAND, Lords, and
Blackamoors] [p]Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at?

Boyet : Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out.

Rosaline : Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.

Princess of France : O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! [p]Will they not, think you, hang
themselves tonight? [p]Or ever, but in vizards, show their
faces? [p]This pert Biron was out of countenance quite.

Rosaline : O, they were all in lamentable cases! [p]The king was weeping-ripe for
a good word.

Princess of France : Biron did swear himself out of all suit.

Maria : Dumain was at my service, and his sword: [p]No point, quoth I; my
servant straight was mute.

Katharine : Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart; [p]And trow you what he
called me?

Princess of France : Qualm, perhaps.

Katharine : Yes, in good faith.

Princess of France : Go, sickness as thou art!

Rosaline : Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. [p]But will you hear?
the king is my love sworn.

Princess of France : And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.

Katharine : And Longaville was for my service born.

Maria : Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.

Boyet : Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: [p]Immediately they will again
be here [p]In their own shapes; for it can never be [p]They will
digest this harsh indignity.

Princess of France : Will they return?

Boyet : They will, they will, God knows, [p]And leap for joy, though they are
lame with blows: [p]Therefore change favours; and, when they
repair, [p]Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.

Princess of France : How blow? how blow? speak to be understood.

Boyet : Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their bud; [p]Dismask'd, their damask
sweet commixture shown, [p]Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.

Princess of France : Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do, [p]If they return in their own
shapes to woo?

Rosaline : Good madam, if by me you'll be advised, [p]Let's, mock them still, as
well known as disguised: [p]Let us complain to them what fools were
here, [p]Disguised like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; [p]And wonder
what they were and to what end [p]Their shallow shows and prologue
vilely penn'd [p]And their rough carriage so ridiculous, [p]Should be
presented at our tent to us.

Boyet : Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand.

Princess of France : Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er land. [p][Exeunt PRINCESS,
ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA] [p][Re-enter FERDINAND, BIRON,
LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN,] [p]in their proper habits]

Ferdinand : Fair sir, God save you! Where's the princess?

Boyet : Gone to her tent. Please it your majesty [p]Command me any service to
her thither?

Ferdinand : That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

Boyet : I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.

Biron : This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease, [p]And utters it again when
God doth please: [p]He is wit's pedler, and retails his wares [p]At
wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; [p]And we that sell by
gross, the Lord doth know, [p]Have not the grace to grace it with such
show. [p]This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; [p]Had he been
Adam, he had tempted Eve; [p]A' can carve too, and lisp: why, this is
he [p]That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy; [p]This is the ape of
form, monsieur the nice, [p]That, when he plays at tables, chides the
dice [p]In honourable terms: nay, he can sing [p]A mean most meanly;
and in ushering [p]Mend him who can: the ladies call him sweet; [p]The
stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet: [p]This is the flower
that smiles on every one, [p]To show his teeth as white as whale's
bone; [p]And consciences, that will not die in debt, [p]Pay him the
due of honey-tongued Boyet.

Ferdinand : A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, [p]That put Armado's
page out of his part!

Biron : See where it comes! Behavior, what wert thou [p]Till this madman
show'd thee? and what art thou now? [p][Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered
by BOYET, ROSALINE,] [p]MARIA, and KATHARINE]

Ferdinand : All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!

Princess of France : 'Fair' in 'all hail' is foul, as I conceive.

Ferdinand : Construe my speeches better, if you may.

Princess of France : Then wish me better; I will give you leave.

Ferdinand : We came to visit you, and purpose now [p]To lead you to our court;
vouchsafe it then.

Princess of France : This field shall hold me; and so hold your vow: [p]Nor God, nor I,
delights in perjured men.

Ferdinand : Rebuke me not for that which you provoke: [p]The virtue of your eye
must break my oath.

Princess of France : You nickname virtue; vice you should have spoke; [p]For virtue's
office never breaks men's troth. [p]Now by my maiden honour, yet as
pure [p]As the unsullied lily, I protest, [p]A world of torments
though I should endure, [p]I would not yield to be your house's
guest; [p]So much I hate a breaking cause to be [p]Of heavenly oaths,
vow'd with integrity.

Ferdinand : O, you have lived in desolation here, [p]Unseen, unvisited, much to
our shame.

Princess of France : Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear; [p]We have had pastimes here
and pleasant game: [p]A mess of Russians left us but of late.

Ferdinand : How, madam! Russians!

Princess of France : Ay, in truth, my lord; [p]Trim gallants, full of courtship and of
state.

Rosaline : Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord: [p]My lady, to the manner of
the days, [p]In courtesy gives undeserving praise. [p]We four indeed
confronted were with four [p]In Russian habit: here they stay'd an
hour, [p]And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, [p]They did not
bless us with one happy word. [p]I dare not call them fools; but this
I think, [p]When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.

Biron : This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet, [p]Your wit makes wise
things foolish: when we greet, [p]With eyes best seeing, heaven's
fiery eye, [p]By light we lose light: your capacity [p]Is of that
nature that to your huge store [p]Wise things seem foolish and rich
things but poor.

Rosaline : This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye,--

Biron : I am a fool, and full of poverty.

Rosaline : But that you take what doth to you belong, [p]It were a fault to
snatch words from my tongue.

Biron : O, I am yours, and all that I possess!

Rosaline : All the fool mine?

Biron : I cannot give you less.

Rosaline : Which of the vizards was it that you wore?

Biron : Where? when? what vizard? why demand you this?

Rosaline : There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case [p]That hid the worse
and show'd the better face.

Ferdinand : We are descried; they'll mock us now downright.

Dumain : Let us confess and turn it to a jest.

Princess of France : Amazed, my lord? why looks your highness sad?

Rosaline : Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale? [p]Sea-sick, I
think, coming from Muscovy.

Biron : Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. [p]Can any face of brass
hold longer out? [p]Here stand I. lady, dart thy skill at
me; [p]Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; [p]Thrust thy
sharp wit quite through my ignorance; [p]Cut me to pieces with thy
keen conceit; [p]And I will wish thee never more to dance, [p]Nor
never more in Russian habit wait. [p]O, never will I trust to speeches
penn'd, [p]Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue, [p]Nor never
come in vizard to my friend, [p]Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind
harper's song! [p]Taffeta phrases, silken terms
precise, [p]Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation, [p]Figures
pedantical; these summer-flies [p]Have blown me full of maggot
ostentation: [p]I do forswear them; and I here protest, [p]By this
white glove;--how white the hand, God knows!-- [p]Henceforth my wooing
mind shall be express'd [p]In russet yeas and honest kersey
noes: [p]And, to begin, wench,--so God help me, la!-- [p]My love to
thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

Rosaline : Sans sans, I pray you.

Biron : Yet I have a trick [p]Of the old rage: bear with me, I am
sick; [p]I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see: [p]Write, 'Lord
have mercy on us' on those three; [p]They are infected; in their
hearts it lies; [p]They have the plague, and caught it of your
eyes; [p]These lords are visited; you are not free, [p]For the Lord's
tokens on you do I see.

Princess of France : No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.

Biron : Our states are forfeit: seek not to undo us.

Rosaline : It is not so; for how can this be true, [p]That you stand forfeit,
being those that sue?

Biron : Peace! for I will not have to do with you.

Rosaline : Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

Biron : Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end.

Ferdinand : Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression [p]Some fair
excuse.

Princess of France : The fairest is confession. [p]Were not you here but even now
disguised?

Ferdinand : Madam, I was.

Princess of France : And were you well advised?

Ferdinand : I was, fair madam.

Princess of France : When you then were here, [p]What did you whisper in your lady's ear?

Ferdinand : That more than all the world I did respect her.

Princess of France : When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.

Ferdinand : Upon mine honour, no.

Princess of France : Peace, peace! forbear: [p]Your oath once broke, you force not to
forswear.

Ferdinand : Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.

Princess of France : I will: and therefore keep it. Rosaline, [p]What did the Russian
whisper in your ear?

Rosaline : Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear [p]As precious eyesight, and
did value me [p]Above this world; adding thereto moreover [p]That he
would wed me, or else die my lover.

Princess of France : God give thee joy of him! the noble lord [p]Most honourably doth
unhold his word.

Ferdinand : What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth, [p]I never swore this lady
such an oath.

Rosaline : By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain, [p]You gave me this: but
take it, sir, again.

Ferdinand : My faith and this the princess I did give: [p]I knew her by this jewel
on her sleeve.

Princess of France : Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; [p]And Lord Biron, I thank
him, is my dear. [p]What, will you have me, or your pearl again?

Biron : Neither of either; I remit both twain. [p]I see the trick on't: here
was a consent, [p]Knowing aforehand of our merriment, [p]To dash it
like a Christmas comedy: [p]Some carry-tale, some please-man, some
slight zany, [p]Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some
Dick, [p]That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick [p]To make
my lady laugh when she's disposed, [p]Told our intents before; which
once disclosed, [p]The ladies did change favours: and then
we, [p]Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. [p]Now, to our
perjury to add more terror, [p]We are again forsworn, in will and
error. [p]Much upon this it is: and might not you [p][To
BOYET] [p]Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue? [p]Do not you
know my lady's foot by the squier, [p]And laugh upon the apple of her
eye? [p]And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, [p]Holding a
trencher, jesting merrily? [p]You put our page out: go, you are
allow'd; [p]Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. [p]You
leer upon me, do you? there's an eye [p]Wounds like a leaden sword.

Boyet : Full merrily [p]Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.

Biron : Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! I have done. [p][Enter
COSTARD] [p]Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.

Costard : O Lord, sir, they would know [p]Whether the three Worthies shall come
in or no.

Biron : What, are there but three?

Costard : No, sir; but it is vara fine, [p]For every one pursents three.

Biron : And three times thrice is nine.

Costard : Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope it is not so. [p]You cannot
beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir we know [p]what we know: [p]I hope,
sir, three times thrice, sir,--

Biron : Is not nine.

Costard : Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

Biron : By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

Costard : O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living [p]by reckoning,
sir.

Biron : How much is it?

Costard : O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, [p]sir, will show
whereuntil it doth amount: for mine [p]own part, I am, as they say,
but to parfect one man [p]in one poor man, Pompion the Great, sir.

Biron : Art thou one of the Worthies?

Costard : It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the [p]Great: for mine
own part, I know not the degree of [p]the Worthy, but I am to stand
for him.

Biron : Go, bid them prepare.

Costard : We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take [p]some care.

Ferdinand : Biron, they will shame us: let them not approach.

Biron : We are shame-proof, my lord: and tis some policy [p]To have one show
worse than the king's and his company.

Ferdinand : I say they shall not come.

Princess of France : Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now: [p]That sport best pleases
that doth least know how: [p]Where zeal strives to content, and the
contents [p]Dies in the zeal of that which it presents: [p]Their form
confounded makes most form in mirth, [p]When great things labouring
perish in their birth.

Biron : A right description of our sport, my lord.

Don Adriano de Armado : Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal [p]sweet breath as
will utter a brace of words.

Princess of France : Doth this man serve God?

Biron : Why ask you?

Princess of France : He speaks not like a man of God's making.

Don Adriano de Armado : That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, [p]I protest, the
schoolmaster is exceeding [p]fantastical; too, too vain, too too vain:
but we [p]will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la guerra. [p]I wish
you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!

Ferdinand : Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He [p]presents Hector
of Troy; the swain, Pompey the [p]Great; the parish curate, Alexander;
Armado's page, [p]Hercules; the pedant, Judas Maccabaeus: And
if [p]these four Worthies in their first show thrive, [p]These four
will change habits, and present the other five.

Biron : There is five in the first show.

Ferdinand : You are deceived; 'tis not so.

Biron : The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool [p]and the
boy:-- [p]Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again [p]Cannot
pick out five such, take each one in his vein.

Ferdinand : The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

Costard : I Pompey am,--

Boyet : You lie, you are not he.

Costard : I Pompey am,--

Boyet : With libbard's head on knee.

Biron : Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends [p]with thee.

Costard : I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big--

Dumain : The Great.

Costard : It is, 'Great,' sir:-- [p]Pompey surnamed the Great; [p]That oft in
field, with targe and shield, did make [p]my foe to sweat: [p]And
travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance, [p]And lay my
arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France, [p]If your ladyship
would say, 'Thanks, Pompey,' I had done.

Princess of France : Great thanks, great Pompey.

Costard : 'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect: I [p]made a little
fault in 'Great.'

Biron : My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.

Sir Nathaniel : When in the world I lived, I was the world's [p]commander; [p]By east,
west, north, and south, I spread my [p]conquering might: [p]My
scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander,--

Boyet : Your nose says, no, you are not for it stands too right.

Biron : Your nose smells 'no' in this, most tender-smelling knight.

Princess of France : The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good Alexander.

Sir Nathaniel : When in the world I lived, I was the world's [p]commander,--

Boyet : Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.

Biron : Pompey the Great,--

Costard : Your servant, and Costard.

Biron : Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

Costard : [To SIR NATHANIEL] O, sir, you have overthrown [p]Alisander the
conqueror! You will be scraped out of [p]the painted cloth for this:
your lion, that holds [p]his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool, will
be given [p]to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, [p]and
afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander. [p][SIR NATHANIEL
retires] [p]There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man;
an [p]honest man, look you, and soon dashed. He is a [p]marvellous
good neighbour, faith, and a very good [p]bowler: but, for
Alisander,--alas, you see how [p]'tis,--a little o'erparted. But there
are Worthies [p]a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

Holofernes : Great Hercules is presented by this imp, [p]Whose club kill'd
Cerberus, that three-headed canis; [p]And when he was a babe, a child,
a shrimp, [p]Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus. [p]Quoniam he
seemeth in minority, [p]Ergo I come with this apology. [p]Keep some
state in thy exit, and vanish. [p][MOTH retires] [p]Judas I am,--

Dumain : A Judas!

Holofernes : Not Iscariot, sir. [p]Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.

Dumain : Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.

Biron : A kissing traitor. How art thou proved Judas?

Holofernes : Judas I am,--

Dumain : The more shame for you, Judas.

Holofernes : What mean you, sir?

Boyet : To make Judas hang himself.

Holofernes : Begin, sir; you are my elder.

Biron : Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder.

Holofernes : I will not be put out of countenance.

Biron : Because thou hast no face.

Holofernes : What is this?

Boyet : A cittern-head.

Dumain : The head of a bodkin.

Biron : A Death's face in a ring.

Longaville : The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.

Boyet : The pommel of Caesar's falchion.

Dumain : The carved-bone face on a flask.

Biron : Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch.

Dumain : Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Biron : Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. [p]And now forward; for we
have put thee in countenance.

Holofernes : You have put me out of countenance.

Biron : False; we have given thee faces.

Holofernes : But you have out-faced them all.

Biron : An thou wert a lion, we would do so.

Boyet : Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. [p]And so adieu, sweet Jude!
nay, why dost thou stay?

Dumain : For the latter end of his name.

Biron : For the ass to the Jude; give it him:--Jud-as, away!

Holofernes : This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

Boyet : A light for Monsieur Judas! it grows dark, he may stumble.

Princess of France : Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited!

Biron : Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms.

Dumain : Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

Ferdinand : Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.

Boyet : But is this Hector?

Ferdinand : I think Hector was not so clean-timbered.

Longaville : His leg is too big for Hector's.

Dumain : More calf, certain.

Boyet : No; he is best endued in the small.

Biron : This cannot be Hector.

Dumain : He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces.

Don Adriano de Armado : The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, [p]Gave Hector a gift,--

Dumain : A gilt nutmeg.

Biron : A lemon.

Longaville : Stuck with cloves.

Dumain : No, cloven.

Don Adriano de Armado : Peace!-- [p]The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty [p]Gave Hector
a gift, the heir of Ilion; [p]A man so breathed, that certain he would
fight; yea [p]From morn till night, out of his pavilion. [p]I am that
flower,--

Dumain : That mint.

Longaville : That columbine.

Don Adriano de Armado : Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.

Longaville : I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.

Dumain : Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

Don Adriano de Armado : The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, [p]beat not the
bones of the buried: when he breathed, [p]he was a man. But I will
forward with my device. [p][To the PRINCESS] [p]Sweet royalty, bestow
on me the sense of hearing.

Princess of France : Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.

Don Adriano de Armado : I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.

Boyet : [Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot,--

Dumain : [Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard.

Don Adriano de Armado : This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,--

Costard : The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she [p]is two months on
her way.

Don Adriano de Armado : What meanest thou?

Costard : Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor [p]wench is cast
away: she's quick; the child brags in [p]her belly already: tis
yours.

Don Adriano de Armado : Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt [p]die.

Costard : Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is [p]quick by him
and hanged for Pompey that is dead by [p]him.

Dumain : Most rare Pompey!

Boyet : Renowned Pompey!

Biron : Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! [p]Pompey the Huge!

Dumain : Hector trembles.

Biron : Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! stir them [p]on! stir them on!

Dumain : Hector will challenge him.

Biron : Ay, if a' have no man's blood in's belly than will [p]sup a flea.

Don Adriano de Armado : By the north pole, I do challenge thee.

Costard : I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man: [p]I'll slash; I'll
do it by the sword. I bepray you, [p]let me borrow my arms again.

Dumain : Room for the incensed Worthies!

Costard : I'll do it in my shirt.

Dumain : Most resolute Pompey!

Moth : Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you [p]not see Pompey
is uncasing for the combat? What mean [p]you? You will lose your
reputation.

Don Adriano de Armado : Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat [p]in my shirt.

Dumain : You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.

Don Adriano de Armado : Sweet bloods, I both may and will.

Biron : What reason have you for't?

Don Adriano de Armado : The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go [p]woolward for
penance.

Boyet : True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of [p]linen: since
when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but [p]a dishclout of Jaquenetta's,
and that a' wears next [p]his heart for a favour.

Mercade : God save you, madam!

Princess of France : Welcome, Mercade; [p]But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

Mercade : I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring [p]Is heavy in my tongue. The
king your father--

Princess of France : Dead, for my life!

Mercade : Even so; my tale is told.

Biron : Worthies, away! the scene begins to cloud.

Don Adriano de Armado : For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have [p]seen the day of
wrong through the little hole of [p]discretion, and I will right
myself like a soldier.

Ferdinand : How fares your majesty?

Princess of France : Boyet, prepare; I will away tonight.

Ferdinand : Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.

Princess of France : Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, [p]For all your fair
endeavors; and entreat, [p]Out of a new-sad soul, that you
vouchsafe [p]In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide [p]The liberal
opposition of our spirits, [p]If over-boldly we have borne
ourselves [p]In the converse of breath: your gentleness [p]Was guilty
of it. Farewell worthy lord! [p]A heavy heart bears not a nimble
tongue: [p]Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks [p]For my great
suit so easily obtain'd.

Ferdinand : The extreme parts of time extremely forms [p]All causes to the purpose
of his speed, [p]And often at his very loose decides [p]That which
long process could not arbitrate: [p]And though the mourning brow of
progeny [p]Forbid the smiling courtesy of love [p]The holy suit which
fain it would convince, [p]Yet, since love's argument was first on
foot, [p]Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it [p]From what it
purposed; since, to wail friends lost [p]Is not by much so
wholesome-profitable [p]As to rejoice at friends but newly
found.PRINCESS. I understand you not: my griefs are double.

Biron : Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief; [p]And by these
badges understand the king. [p]For your fair sakes have we neglected
time, [p]Play'd foul play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies, [p]Hath
much deform'd us, fashioning our humours [p]Even to the opposed end of
our intents: [p]And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,-- [p]As love is
full of unbefitting strains, [p]All wanton as a child, skipping and
vain, [p]Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, [p]Full of
strange shapes, of habits and of forms, [p]Varying in subjects as the
eye doth roll [p]To every varied object in his glance: [p]Which
parti-coated presence of loose love [p]Put on by us, if, in your
heavenly eyes, [p]Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities, [p]Those
heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, [p]Suggested us to make.
Therefore, ladies, [p]Our love being yours, the error that love
makes [p]Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false, [p]By being
once false for ever to be true [p]To those that make us both,--fair
ladies, you: [p]And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, [p]Thus
purifies itself and turns to grace.

Princess of France : We have received your letters full of love; [p]Your favours, the
ambassadors of love; [p]And, in our maiden council, rated them [p]At
courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy, [p]As bombast and as lining to
the time: [p]But more devout than this in our respects [p]Have we not
been; and therefore met your loves [p]In their own fashion, like a
merriment.

Dumain : Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest.

Longaville : So did our looks.

Rosaline : We did not quote them so.

Ferdinand : Now, at the latest minute of the hour, [p]Grant us your loves.

Princess of France : A time, methinks, too short [p]To make a world-without-end bargain
in. [p]No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much, [p]Full of dear
guiltiness; and therefore this: [p]If for my love, as there is no such
cause, [p]You will do aught, this shall you do for me: [p]Your oath I
will not trust; but go with speed [p]To some forlorn and naked
hermitage, [p]Remote from all the pleasures of the world; [p]There
stay until the twelve celestial signs [p]Have brought about the annual
reckoning. [p]If this austere insociable life [p]Change not your offer
made in heat of blood; [p]If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin
weeds [p]Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, [p]But that it bear
this trial and last love; [p]Then, at the expiration of the
year, [p]Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts, [p]And, by
this virgin palm now kissing thine [p]I will be thine; and till that
instant shut [p]My woeful self up in a mourning house, [p]Raining the
tears of lamentation [p]For the remembrance of my father's
death. [p]If this thou do deny, let our hands part, [p]Neither
entitled in the other's heart.

Ferdinand : If this, or more than this, I would deny, [p]To flatter up these
powers of mine with rest, [p]The sudden hand of death close up mine
eye! [p]Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.

Biron : [And what to me, my love? and what to me?

Rosaline : You must be purged too, your sins are rack'd, [p]You are attaint with
faults and perjury: [p]Therefore if you my favour mean to get, [p]A
twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, [p]But seek the weary
beds of people sick]

Dumain : But what to me, my love? but what to me? A wife?

Katharine : A beard, fair health, and honesty; [p]With three-fold love I wish you
all these three.

Dumain : O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?

Katharine : Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day [p]I'll mark no words that
smooth-faced wooers say: [p]Come when the king doth to my lady
come; [p]Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

Dumain : I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.

Katharine : Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.

Longaville : What says Maria?

Maria : At the twelvemonth's end [p]I'll change my black gown for a faithful
friend.

Longaville : I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.

Maria : The liker you; few taller are so young.

Biron : Studies my lady? mistress, look on me; [p]Behold the window of my
heart, mine eye, [p]What humble suit attends thy answer
there: [p]Impose some service on me for thy love.

Rosaline : Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron, [p]Before I saw you; and the
world's large tongue [p]Proclaims you for a man replete with
mocks, [p]Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, [p]Which you on all
estates will execute [p]That lie within the mercy of your wit. [p]To
weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, [p]And therewithal to win
me, if you please, [p]Without the which I am not to be won, [p]You
shall this twelvemonth term from day to day [p]Visit the speechless
sick and still converse [p]With groaning wretches; and your task shall
be, [p]With all the fierce endeavor of your wit [p]To enforce the
pained impotent to smile.

Biron : To move wild laughter in the throat of death? [p]It cannot be; it is
impossible: [p]Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Rosaline : Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, [p]Whose influence is
begot of that loose grace [p]Which shallow laughing hearers give to
fools: [p]A jest's prosperity lies in the ear [p]Of him that hears it,
never in the tongue [p]Of him that makes it: then, if sickly
ears, [p]Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans, [p]Will
hear your idle scorns, continue then, [p]And I will have you and that
fault withal; [p]But if they will not, throw away that spirit, [p]And
I shall find you empty of that fault, [p]Right joyful of your
reformation.

Biron : A twelvemonth! well; befall what will befall, [p]I'll jest a
twelvemonth in an hospital.

Princess of France : [To FERDINAND] Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave.

Ferdinand : No, madam; we will bring you on your way.

Biron : Our wooing doth not end like an old play; [p]Jack hath not Jill: these
ladies' courtesy [p]Might well have made our sport a comedy.

Ferdinand : Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, [p]And then 'twill end.

Biron : That's too long for a play.

Don Adriano de Armado : Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,--

Princess of France : Was not that Hector?

Dumain : The worthy knight of Troy.

Don Adriano de Armado : I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am [p]a votary; I have
vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the [p]plough for her sweet love three
years. But, most [p]esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue
that [p]the two learned men have compiled in praise of the [p]owl and
the cuckoo? It should have followed in the [p]end of our show.

Ferdinand : Call them forth quickly; we will do so.

Don Adriano de Armado : Holla! approach. [p][Re-enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, MOTH,
COSTARD,] [p]and others] [p]This side is Hiems, Winter, this Ver, the
Spring; [p]the one maintained by the owl, the other by the [p]cuckoo.
Ver, begin. [p][THE SONG] [p]SPRING. [p]When daisies pied and violets
blue [p]And lady-smocks all silver-white [p]And cuckoo-buds of yellow
hue [p]Do paint the meadows with delight, [p]The cuckoo then, on every
tree, [p]Mocks married men; for thus sings he, . Cuckoo; [p]Cuckoo,
cuckoo: O word of fear, [p]Unpleasing to a married ear! [p]When
shepherds pipe on oaten straws [p]And merry larks are ploughmen's
clocks, [p]When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, [p]And maidens
bleach their summer smocks [p]The cuckoo then, on every tree, [p]Mocks
married men; for thus sings he, . Cuckoo; [p]Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of
fear, [p]Unpleasing to a married ear! [p]WINTER. [p]When icicles hang
by the wall [p]And Dick the shepherd blows his nail [p]And Tom bears
logs into the hall [p]And milk comes frozen home in pail, [p]When
blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, [p]Then nightly sings the staring
owl, . Tu-whit; [p]Tu-who, a merry note, [p]While greasy Joan doth
keel the pot. [p]When all aloud the wind doth blow [p]And coughing
drowns the parson's saw [p]And birds sit brooding in the snow [p]And
Marian's nose looks red and raw, [p]When roasted crabs hiss in the
bowl, [p]Then nightly sings the staring owl, . Tu-whit; [p]Tu-who, a
merry note, [p]While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Don Adriano de Armado : The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of [p]Apollo. You that
way: we this way.

Previous: Act 5 - Scene 1

Next: Act 5 - Scene 2

Web Standards & Support: