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Complete Plays, The

Page 281

by William Shakespeare


  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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