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Complete Plays, The

Page 276

by William Shakespeare

Costard

  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.

  Don Adriano de Armado

  But tell me; how was there a costard broken in a shin?

  Moth

  I will tell you sensibly.

  Costard

  Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: I will speak that l’envoy:

  I Costard, running out, that was safely within,

  Fell over the threshold and broke my shin.

  Don Adriano de Armado

  We will talk no more of this matter.

  Costard

  Till there be more matter in the shin.

  Don Adriano de Armado

  Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.

  Costard

  O, marry me to one Frances: I smell some l’envoy, some goose, in this.

  Don Adriano de Armado

  By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.

  Costard

  True, true; and now you will be my purgation and let me loose.

  Don Adriano de Armado

  I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this significant

  Giving a letter

  to the country maid Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; for the best ward of mine honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.

  Exit

  Moth

  Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

  Costard

  My sweet ounce of man’s flesh! my incony Jew!

  Exit Moth

  Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that’s the Latin word for three farthings: three farthings — remuneration.—‘What’s the price of this inkle?’—‘One penny.’—‘No, I’ll give you a remuneration:’ why, it carries it. Remuneration! why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word.

  Enter Biron

  Biron

  O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.

  Costard

  Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?

  Biron

  What is a remuneration?

  Costard

  Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.

  Biron

  Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.

  Costard

  I thank your worship: God be wi’ you!

  Biron

  Stay, slave; I must employ thee:

  As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,

  Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

  Costard

  When would you have it done, sir?

  Biron

  This afternoon.

  Costard

  Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well.

  Biron

  Thou knowest not what it is.

  Costard

  I shall know, sir, when I have done it.

  Biron

  Why, villain, thou must know first.

  Costard

  I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

  Biron

  It must be done this afternoon.

  Hark, slave, it is but this:

  The princess comes to hunt here in the park,

  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

  This seal’d-up counsel. There’s thy guerdon; go.

  Giving him a shilling

  Costard

  Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration, a’leven-pence farthing better: most sweet gardon! I will do it sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration!

  Exit

  Biron

  And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love’s whip;

  A very beadle to a humorous sigh;

  A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;

  A domineering pedant o’er the boy;

  Than whom no mortal so magnificent!

  This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;

  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,

  Sole imperator and great general

  Of trotting ’paritors:— O my little heart:—

  And I to be a corporal of his field,

  And wear his colours like a tumbler’s hoop!

  What, I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!

  A woman, that is like a German clock,

  Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,

  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;

  And, among three, to love the worst of all;

  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:

  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.

  Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan:

  Some men must love my lady and some Joan.

  Exit

  ACT IV

  SCENE I. THE SAME.

  Enter the Princess, and her train, a Forester, Boyet, Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine

  Princess

  Was that the king, that spurred his horse so hard

  Against the steep uprising of the hill?

  Boyet

  I know not; but I think it was not he.

  Princess

  Whoe’er a’ was, a’ show’d a mounting mind.

  Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch:

  On Saturday we will return to France.

  Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush

  That we must stand and play the murderer in?

  Forester

  Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;

  A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.

  Princess

  I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,

  And thereupon thou speak’st the fairest shoot.

  Forester

  Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.

  Princess

  What, what? first praise me and again say no?

  O short-lived pride! Not fair? alack for woe!

  Forester

  Yes, madam, fair.

  Princess

  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.

  Forester

  Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

  Princess

  See see, my beauty will be saved by merit!

  O heresy in fair, fit for these days!

  A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.

  But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,

  And shooting well is then accounted ill.

  Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:

  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.

  And out of question so it is sometimes,

  Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,

  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

  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?

  Princess

  Only for praise: and praise we may afford

  To any lady that subdues a lord.

  Boyet

  Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

  Enter Costard

  Costard

  God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

  Princess

  Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

  Costard

  Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

  Princess

  The thickest and the tallest.

  Costard

  The thickest and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.

  An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,

  One o’ these maids’ girdles for your waist should be fit.

  Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.

  Princess

  What’s your will, sir? what’s your will?

  Costard

  I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one Lady Rosaline.

  Princess

  O, thy letter, thy letter! he’s a good friend of mine:

  Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve;

  Break up this capon.

  Boyet

  I am bound to serve.

  This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;

  It is writ to Jaquenetta.

  Princess

  We will read it, I swear.

  Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

  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 illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, Veni, vidi, vici; which to annothanize in the vulgar,— O base and obscure vulgar!— videlicet, He came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw 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: what saw he? the beggar: who overcame he? the beggar. The conclusion 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 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 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:

  But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then?

  Food for his rage, repasture for his den.

  Princess

  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.

  Princess

  Else your memory is bad, going o’er it erewhile.

  Boyet

  This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;

  A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport

  To the prince and his bookmates.

  Princess

  Thou fellow, a word:

  Who gave thee this letter?

  Costard

  I told you; my lord.

  Princess

  To whom shouldst thou give it?

  Costard

  From my lord to my lady.

  Princess

  From which lord to which lady?

  Costard

  From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,

  To a lady of France that he call’d Rosaline.

  Princess

  Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.

  To Rosaline

  Here, sweet, put up this: ’twill be thine another day.

  Exeunt Princess and train

  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.

  Finely put off!

  Boyet

  My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,

  Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.

  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.

  Finely put on, indeed!

  Maria

  You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes 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 a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?

  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.

  Rosaline

  Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,

  Thou canst not hit it, my good man.

  Boyet

  An I cannot, cannot, cannot,

  An I cannot, another can.

  Exeunt Rosaline and Katharine

  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!

  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.

  Exeunt Boyet and Maria

  Costard

  By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown!

  Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down!

  O’ my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar wit!

  When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.

  Armado o’ th’ one side,— O, a most dainty man!

  To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!

  To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a’ will swear!

  And his page o’ t’ other side, that handful of wit!

  Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!

  Sola, sola!

  Shout within

  Exit Costard, running

  SCENE II. THE SAME.

  Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull

  Sir Nathaniel

  Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the testimony of
a good conscience.

  Holofernes

  The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear 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.

  Sir Nathaniel

  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.

  Holofernes

  Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

  Dull

  ’Twas not a haud credo; ’twas a pricket.

  Holofernes

  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, 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.

  Holofernes

  Twice-sod simplicity, his coctus!

  O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

  Sir Nathaniel

  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: his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts:

  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 fructify in us more than he.

  For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,

  So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school:

  But omne bene, say I; being of an old father’s mind,

  Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.

  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?

  Holofernes

  Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.

  Dull

  What is Dictynna?

  Sir Nathaniel

  A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.

  Holofernes

  The moon was a month old when Adam was no more,

  And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score.

  The allusion holds in the exchange.

  Dull

  ’Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.

  Holofernes

  God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion holds in the exchange.

  Dull

  And I say, the pollusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is never but a month old: and I say beside that, ’twas a pricket that the princess killed.

  Holofernes

  Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call I the deer the princess killed a pricket.

 

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