Complete Plays, The
Page 276
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.