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 with thee.
Costard
I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big —
Dumain
The Great.
Costard
It is, ‘Great,’ sir:— Pompey surnamed the Great;
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat:
And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance,
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France,
If your ladyship would say, ‘Thanks, Pompey,’ I had done.
Princess
Great thanks, great Pompey.
Costard
’Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect: I made a little fault in ‘Great.’
Biron
My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.
Enter Sir Nathaniel, for Alexander
Sir Nathaniel
When in the world I lived, I was the world’s commander;
By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might:
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
The conqueror is dismay’d. Proceed, good Alexander.
Sir Nathaniel
When in the world I lived, I was the world’s 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 Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool, will be given to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander.
Sir Nathaniel retires
There, an’t shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dashed. He is a marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander,— alas, you see how ’tis,— a little o’erparted. But there are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.
Enter Holofernes, for Judas; and Moth, for Hercules
Holofernes
Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
Whose club kill’d Cerberus, that three-headed canis;
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.
Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
Ergo I come with this apology.
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.
Moth retires
Judas I am,—
Dumain
A Judas!
Holofernes
Not Iscariot, sir.
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.
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.
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.
Holofernes retires
Princess
Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited!
Enter Don Adriano de Armado, for Hector
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,
Gave Hector a gift,—
Dumain
A gilt nutmeg.
Biron
A lemon.
Longaville
Stuck with cloves.
Dumain
No, cloven.
Don Adriano de Armado
Peace!—
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight; yea
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
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, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with my device.
To the Princess
Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.
Princess
Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.
Don Adriano de Armado
I do adore thy sweet grace’s slipper.
Boyet
[Aside to Duma
in] 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 is two months on her way.
Don Adriano de Armado
What meanest thou?
Costard
Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench is cast away: she’s quick; the child brags in her belly already: tis yours.
Don Adriano de Armado
Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt die.
Costard
Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is quick by him and hanged for Pompey that is dead by him.
Dumain
Most rare Pompey!
Boyet
Renowned Pompey!
Biron
Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey!
Pompey the Huge!
Dumain
Hector trembles.
Biron
Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! stir them on! stir them on!
Dumain
Hector will challenge him.
Biron
Ay, if a’ have no man’s blood in’s belly than will 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: I’ll slash; I’ll do it by the sword. I bepray you, 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 not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose your reputation.
Don Adriano de Armado
Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat 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 woolward for penance.
Boyet
True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I’ll be sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of Jaquenetta’s, and that a’ wears next his heart for a favour.
Enter Mercade
Mercade
God save you, madam!
Princess
Welcome, Mercade;
But that thou interrupt’st our merriment.
Mercade
I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father —
Princess
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 seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
Exeunt Worthies
Ferdinand
How fares your majesty?
Princess
Boyet, prepare; I will away tonight.
Ferdinand
Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.
Princess
Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavors; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide
The liberal opposition of our spirits,
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath: your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewell worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue:
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain’d.
Ferdinand
The extreme parts of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed,
And often at his very loose decides
That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince,
Yet, since love’s argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost
Is not by much so wholesome-profitable
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;
And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play’d foul play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform’d us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents:
And what in us hath seem’d ridiculous,—
As love is full of unbefitting strains,
All wanton as a child, skipping and vain,
Form’d by the eye and therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which parti-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both,— fair ladies, you:
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.
Princess
We have received your letters full of love;
Your favours, the ambassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy,
As bombast and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this in our respects
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
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,
Grant us your loves.
Princess
A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in.
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this:
If for my love, as there is no such cause,
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about the annual reckoning.
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial and last love;
Then, at the expiratio
n of the year,
Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine
I will be thine; and till that instant shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation
For the remembrance of my father’s death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part,
Neither entitled in the other’s heart.
Ferdinand
If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.
Dumain
But what to me, my love? but what to me? A wife?
Katharine
A beard, fair health, and honesty;
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
I’ll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say:
Come when the king doth to my lady come;
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
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;
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble suit attends thy answer there:
Impose some service on me for thy love.
Rosaline
Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron,
Before I saw you; and the world’s large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,
Which you on all estates will execute
That lie within the mercy of your wit.
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And therewithal to win me, if you please,
Without the which I am not to be won,
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavor of your wit
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
Biron
To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be; it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
Rosaline
Why, that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest’s prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
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