BOYET (sings)
An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
An I cannot, another can.
Exit Rosaline
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. Goodnight, my good owl.
Exeunt Boyet, Maria, ⌈and Catherine⌉
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’ t’other 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!
Shout within
Sola, sola!
Exit
4.2 Enter Dull, Holofernes the pedant, and Nathaniel the curate
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.
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 ‘auld grey doe’, ’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 ‘auld grey doe’, ‘twas a pricket.
HOLOFERNES Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus!
O thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!
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 bookmen. 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 ‘Dictima’?
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.
Th’allusion holds in the exchange.
DULL ’Tis true, indeed, the collusion holds in the exchange.
HOLOFERNES God comfort thy capacity, I say th’allusion holds in the exchange.
DULL And I say the pollution 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.
NATHANIEL Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.
HOLOFERNES I will something affect the letter, for it argues facility.
The preyful Princess pierced and pricked a pretty pleasing pricket.
Some say a sore, but not a sore till now made sore with shooting.
The dogs did yell; put ‘I’ to ‘sore‘, then ‘sorel’ jumps from thicket—
Or pricket sore, or else sorel. The people fall a- hooting.
If sore be sore, then ‘I’ to ‘sore’ makes fifty sores—O sore ‘I’!
Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more ‘I’.
NATHANIEL A rare talent!
DULL If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent.
HOLOFERNES This is a gift that I have, simple, simpte—a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.
NATHANIEL Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you. You are a good member of the commonwealth.
HOLOFERNES Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious they shall want no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur; a soul feminine saluteth us. Enter Jaquenetta, and Costard the clown
JAQUENETTA God give you good-morrow, Master Parson.
HOLOFERNES Master Parson, quasi ‘pierce one’ ? And if one should be pierced, which is the one?
COSTARD Marry, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likeliest to a hogshead.
HOLOFERNES ‘Of piercing a hogshead’—a good lustre of conceit in a turf of earth, fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine—‘tis pretty, it is well.
JAQUENETTA Good Master Parson, be so good as read me this letter. It was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado. I beseech you read it.
She gives the letter to Nathaniel, who reads it
HOLOFERNES (to himself) ‘Facile precor gelida quando pecas omnia sub umbra ruminat’, and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice:
Venezia, Venezia, Chi non ti vede, chi non ti prezia.
Old Mantuan, old Mantuan—who understandeth thee not, loves thee not. (He sings) Ut, re, Sol, la, mi, fa. (To Nathaniel) Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? Or rather, as Horace says in his—what, my soul—verses?
NATHANIEL Ay, sir, and very learned.
HOLOFERNES Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse. Lege, domine.
NATHANIEL (reads)
‘If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed.
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll faithful prove.
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed.
Study his bias leaves, and makes
his book thine eyes,
Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend.
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice.
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire.
Thy eye Jove’s lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O pardon, love, this wrong,
That singeth heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue.’
HOLOFERNES You find not the apostrophus, and so miss the accent. Let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified, but for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy—caret. Ovidius Naso was the man. And why indeed ‘Naso’ but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari is nothing. So doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But domicella— virgin—was this directed to you?
JAQUENETTA Ay, Sir.
HOLOFERNES I will overglance the superscript. ‘To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.’ I will look again on the intellect of the letter for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto. ‘Your ladyship’s in all desired employment, Biron.’ Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the King, and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger Queen’s, which, accidentally or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. (To Jaquenetta) Trip and go, my sweet, deliver this paper into the royal hand of the King. It may concern much. Stay not thy compliment, I forgive thy duty. Adieu.
JAQUENETTA Good Costard, go with me.—Sir, God save your life.
CUSTARD Have with thee, my girl. Exit with Jaquenetta
NATHANIEL Sir, you have done this in the fear of God very religiously, and, as a certain father saith—
HOLOFERNES Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable colours. But to return to the verses—did they please you, Sir Nathaniel?
NATHANIEL Marvellous well for the pen.
HOLOFERNES I do dine today at the father’s of a certain pupil of mine where, if before repast it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will on my privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid child or pupil undertake your ben venuto, where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your society.
NATHANIEL And thank you too, for society, saith the text, is the happiness of life.
HOLOFERNES And certes the text most infallibly concludes it. (To Dull) Sir, I do invite you too. You shall not say me nay. Pauca verba. Away, the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. Exeunt
4.3 Enter Biron with a paper in his hand, alone
BIRON The King, he is hunting the deer. I am coursing myself. They have pitched a toil, I am toiling in a pitch—pitch that defiles. Denle—a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow; for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax, it kills sheep, it kills me, I a sheep—well proved again o’ my side. I will not love. If I do, hang me; i’faith, I will not. O, but her eye! By this light, but for her eye I would not love her. Yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love, and it hath taught me to rhyme and to be melancholy, and here (showing a paper) is part of my rhyme, and here (touching his breast) my melancholy. Well, she hath one o’ my sonnets already. The clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it. Sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady. By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper. God give him grace to groan.
He stands aside. The King entereth with a paper
KING Ay me!
BIRON (aside) Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid, thou hast thumped him with thy birdbolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets.
KING (reads)
‘So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose
As thy eyebeams when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows.
Nor shines the silver moon one-half so bright
Through the transparent bosom of the deep
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light.
Thou shin’st in every tear that I do weep.
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee,
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that swell in me
And they thy glory through my grief will show.
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O Queen of queens, how far dost thou excel,
No thought can think nor tongue of mortal tell.’
How shall she know my griefs? I’ll drop the paper.
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
Enter Longueville with papers. The King steps aside
What, Longueville, and reading—listen, ear!
BIRON (aside)
Now in thy likeness one more fool appear!
LONGUEVILLE Ay me! I am forsworn.
BIRON (aside)
Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.
KING (aside)
In love, I hope! Sweet fellowship in shame.
BIRON (aside)
One drunkard loves another of the name.
LONGUEVILLE
Am I the first that have been perjured so?
BIRON (aside)
I could put thee in comfort, not by two that I know.
Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,
The shape of love’s Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.
LONGUEVILLE
I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.
O sweet Maria, empress of my love,
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
BIRON (aside)
O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid’s hose,
Disfigure not his slop.
LONGUEVILLE This same shall go.
He reads the sonnet
‘Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
’Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore, but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee.
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love.
Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is.
Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
Exhal‘st this vapour-vow; in thee it is.
If broken then, it is no fault of mine.
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To lose an oath to win a paradise?’
BIRON (aside)
This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity,
A green goose a goddess, pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend: we are much out o’th’
way.
Enter Dumaine with a paper
LONGUEVILLE (aside)
By whom shall I send this? Company? Stay.
He steps aside
BIRON (aside)
All hid, all hid—an old infant play.
Like a demigod here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools’ secrets heedfully o’er-eye.
More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish.
Dumaine transformed—four woodcocks in a dish!
DUMAINE O most divine Kate!
BIRON (aside) O most profane coxcomb!
DUMAINE
By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!
BIRON (aside)
By earth, she is not, co
rporal; there you lie.
DUMAINE
Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.
BIRON (aside)
An amber-coloured raven was well noted.
DUMAINE
As upright as the cedar.
BIRON (aside) Stoop, I say.
Her shoulder is with child.
DUMAINE As fair as day.
BIRON (aside)
Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.
DUMAINE O that I had my wishl
LONGUEVILLE (aside) And I had mine!
KING (aside) And I mine too, good Lord!
BIRON (aside)
Amen, so I had mine. Is not that a good word?
DUMAINE
I would forget her, but a fever she
Reigns in my blood and will remembered be.
BIRON (aside)
A fever in your blood—why then, incision
Would let her out in saucers—sweet misprision.
DUMAINE
Once more I’ll read the ode that I have writ.
BIRON (aside)
Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit.
Dumaine reads his sonnet
DUMAINE
‘On a day—atack the day—
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air.
Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen can passage find,
That the lover, sick to death,
Wished himself the heavens’ breath.
“Air”, quoth he, “thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so.
But, alack, my hand is sworn
Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn—
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me
That I am forsworn for thee,
Thou for whom great Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiop were,
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.”’
This will I send, and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love’s fasting pain.
O, would the King, Biron, and Longueville
Were lovers too! Ill to example ill
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 111
