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- {Enter BOYET. Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAINE, and BEROWNE.}
- KING. Fair sir, God save you: Where’s the Princess?
- BOYET. Gone to her Tent. Please it your majesty command me any service to her thither?
- KING. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
- BOYET. I will, and so will she, I know my Lord.
- {Exit BOYET.}
- BEROWNE. This fellow pecks up Wit as Pigeons Peas,
- And utters it again when God doth please.
- He is Wit’s Peddler, and retails his wares:
- At Wakes and Wassails, meetings, markets, Fairs.
- And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
- Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
- This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
- Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.
- He can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he
- That kiss’d away his hand in courtesy;
- This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
- That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
- In honourable terms: nay, he can sing
- A mean most meanly, and, in ushering,
- Mend him who can: the ladies call him sweet;
- The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.
- This is the flower that smiles on every one,
- To show his teeth as white as whale his bone;
- And consciences, that will not die in debt,
- Pay him the due of honey-tongu’d Boyet.
- KING. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,
- That put Armado’s page out of his part!
- {Enter PRINCESS, KATHARINE, MARIA, and ROSALINE, with BOYET.}
- BEROWNE. See where it comes! Behavior, what wert thou
- Till this madman show’d thee? and what art thou now ?
- KING. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!
- PRINCESS. Fair in all hail is foul, as I conceive.
- KING. Construe my speeches better, if you may.
- PRINCESS. Then wish me better: I will give you leave.
- KING. We came to visit you, and purpose now
- To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it then.
- PRINCESS. This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow:
- Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur’d men.
- KING. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke:
- The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
- PRINCESS. You nickname virtue; vice you should have spoke;
- For virtue’s office never breaks men’s troth.
- Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
- As the unsullied lily, I protest,
- A world of torments though I should endure,
- I would not yield to be your house’s guest;
- So much I hate a breaking cause to be
- Of heavenly oaths, vow’d with integrity.
- KING. Oh! you have liv’d in desolation here,
- Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
- PRINCESS. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear:
- We have had pastimes here and pleasant game.
- A mess of Russians left us but of late.
- KING. How, madam! Russians!
- PRINCESS. Ay, in truth, my lord;
- Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.
- ROSALINE. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord:
- My lady, to the manner of the days,
- In courtesy gives undeserving praise.
- We four, indeed, confronted were with four
- In Russian habit: here they stay’d an hour,
- And talk’d apace; and in that hour, my lord,
- They did not bless us with one happy word.
- I dare not call them fools ; but this I think,
- When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
- BEROWNE. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet,
- Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we greet,
- With eyes best seeing, heaven’s fiery eye,
- By light we lose light: your capacity
- Is of that nature that to your huge store
- Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.
- ROSALINE. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye, —
- BEROWNE. I am a fool, and full of poverty.
- ROSALINE. But that you take what doth to you belong,
- It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
- BEROWNE. Oh I am yours, and all that I possess.
- ROSALINE. All the fool mine?
- BEROWNE. I cannot give you less.
- ROSALINE. Which of the visors was it that you wore?
- BEROWNE. Where? When? What visor? Why demand you this?
- ROSALINE. There, then, that visor; that superfluous case
- That hid the worse and show’d the better face.
- KING. We are descried: they’ll mock us now downright.
- DUMAINE. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.
- PRINCESS. Amaz’d, my lord? Why looks your highness sad?
- ROSALINE. Help hold his brows: he’ll swoon. Why look you pale?
- Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
- BEROWNE. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.
- Can any face of brass hold longer out?
- Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me;
- Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout;
- Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
- Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
- And I will wish thee never more to dance,
- Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
- Oh never will I trust to speeches pend,
- Nor to the motion of a school-boy’s tongue,
- Nor never come in visor to my friend,
- Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper’s song,
- Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,
- Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affection,
- Figures pedantical; these summer flies
- Have blown me full of maggot ostentation
- I do forswear them; and I here protest,
- By this white glove, — how white the hand, God knows,—
- Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express’d
- In russet yeas and honest kersey noes:
- And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, law! —
- My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
- ROSALINE. Sans, sans. I pray you.
- BEROWNE. Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick;
- I‘ll leave it by degrees. Soft! let me see:
- Write Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
- They are infected, in their hearts it lies;
- They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes
- These lords are visited; you are not free,
- For the Lord’s tokens on you do I see.
- PRINCESS. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.
- BEROWNE. Our states are forfeit: seek not to undo us.
- ROSALINE. It is not so. For how can this be true,
- That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?
- BEROWNE. Peace! for I will not have to do with you.
- ROSALINE. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
- BEROWNE. Speak for yourselves: my wit is at an end.
- KING. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression
- Some fair excuse.
- PRINCESS. The fairest is confession.
- Were you not here, but even now, disguis’d?
- KING. Madam, I was.
- PRINCESS. And were you well advis’d?
- KING. I was, fair madam.
- PRINCESS. When you then were here,
- What did you whisper in your lady’s ear?
- KING. That more than all the world I did respect her.
- PRINCESS. When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.
- KING. Upon mine honour, no.
- PRINCESS. Peace! peace! forbear:
- Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.
- KING. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.
- PRINCESS. I will, and therefore keep it. Rosaline,
- What did the Russian whisper in your ear?
- ROSALINE. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
- As precious eyesight, and did value me
- Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,
- That he would wed me, or else die my love.
- PRINCESS. God give thee joy of him! The noble lord
- Most honorably doth uphold his word.
- KING. What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth,
- I never swore this lady such an oath.
- ROSALINE. By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain,
- You gave me this : but take it, sir, again.
- KING. My faith and this the princess I did give:
- I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.
- PRINCESS. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;
- And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear.
- What, will you have me, or your pearl again?
- BEROWNE. Neither of either; I remit both twain.
- I see the trick on’t here was a consent,
- Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
- To dash it like a Christmas comedy.
- Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,
- Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,
- That smiles his cheek in years, and knows the trick
- To make my lady laugh when she’s disposed,
- Told our intents before; which once disclos’d,
- The ladies did change favors, and then we,
- Following the signs, woo’d by the sign of she.
- Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
- We are again forsworn, in will and error.
- Much upon this it is: and might not you
- Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?
- Do not you know my lady’s foot by the square
- And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
- And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
- Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
- You put our page out: go, you are allow’d;
- Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
- You leer upon me, do you? There’s an eye
- Wounds like a leaden sword.
- BOYET. Full merrily
- Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
- BEROWNE. Lo! He is tilting straight. Peace! I have done.
- Welcome, pure wit! Thou part’st a fair fray.
- {Enter COSTARD.}
- COSTARD. O Lord, sir, they would know,
- Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no.
- BEROWNE. What, are there but three?
- COSTARD. No, sir; but it is vara fine,
- For every one pursents three.
- BEROWNE. And three times thrice is nine.
- COSTARD. Not so, sir; under correction, sir, I hope it is not so.
- You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we know:
- I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, —
- BEROWNE. Is not nine.
- COSTARD. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.
- BEROWNE. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.
- COSTARD. O Lord, sir! it were pity you should get your living
- by reckoning, sir.
- BEROWNE. How much is it?
- COSTARD. O Lord, sir! the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show where until it doth amount : for mine own part, I am, as they say, but to perfect one man in one poor man, Pompey the Great, sir.
- BEROWNE. Art thou one of the Worthies?
- COSTARD. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy, but I am to stand for him.
- BEROWNE. Go, bid them prepare.
- COSTARD. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.
- {Exit COSTARD.}
- KING. Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach.
- BEROWNE. We are shame-proof, my lord; and ’tis some policy
- To have one show worse than the king’s and his company.
- KING. I say they shall not come.
- PRINCESS. Nay, my good lord, let me o’er-rule you now.
- That sport best pleases that doth least know how.
- Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
- Dies in the zeal of that which it presents;
- Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,
- When great things laboring perish in their birth.
- BEROWNE. A right description of our sport, my lord.
- {Enter BRAGGART.}
- BRAGGART. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.
- PRINCESS. Doth this man serve God?
- BEROWNE. Why ask you?
- PRINCESS. He speaks not like a man of God’s my Ferdinand.
- BRAGGART. That’s all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain ; too, too vain : but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna delta guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!
- {Exit BRAGGART.}
- KING. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies.
- He presents Hector of Troy;
- the swain, Pompey the Great;
- the parish curate, Alexander;
- Armado’s page, Hercules;
- the pedant, Judas Maccabaeus.
- And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive,
- These four will change habits, and present the other five.
- BEROWNE. There is five in the first show.
- KING. You are deceived, ‘tis not so.
- BEROWNE. The Pedant, the Braggart, the Hedge-Priest, the Fool, and the boy, —
- Abate throw at Novum, and the whole world again,
- Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.
- KING. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amaine.
- {Enter COSTARD in costume.}
- COSTARD. I Pompey am, —
- BOYET. You lie, you are not he.
- COSTARD. I Pompey am, —
- BOYET. With libbard’s head on knee.
- BEROWNE. Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends with thee.
- COSTARD. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam’d the Big, —
- DUMAINE. The Great.
- COSTARD. It is “Great,” sir; Pompey surnam’d 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.”
- BEROWNE. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.
- {Enter CURATE in costume.}
- CURATE. When in the world I liv’d, I was the world’s commander;
- By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might:
- My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alexander, —
- BOYET. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.
- BEROWNE. Your nose smells “no,” in this, most tender-smelling knight.
- PRINCESS. The conqueror is dismay’d. Proceed, good Alexander.
- CURATE. When in the world I liv’d, I was the world’s commander, —
- BOYET. Most true; ‘tis right: you were so, Alexander.
- BEROWNE. Pompey the Great, —
- COSTARD. Your servant, and Costard.
- BEROWNE. Take away the conqueror, take away Alexander.
- COSTARD. Oh! sir, you have overthrown Alexander the conqueror.
- You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this : your lion, that holds his poleaxe sitting on a close-stool, will be given to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy.
- A conqueror, and afeared to speak. Run away for shame, Alexander.
- {Exit CURATE.}
- There, an’t shall please you: a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dashed! He is a marvelous neighbor, in sooth, and a very good bowler; but, for Alexander, alas you see how ‘tis, a little o’erparted. But there are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.
- PRINCESS. Stand aside, good Pompey.
- {Enter PEDANT and PAGE, both in costume.}
- PEDANT {declaims}. 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.
- {Says} Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
- Ergo I come with this apology.
- Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.
- {Exit PAGE.}
- PEDANT. Judas I am, —
- DUMAINE. A Judas!
- PEDANT. Not Iscariot, sir.
- Judas I am, ycleped Maccabaeus.
- DUMAINE. Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.
- BEROWNE. A kissing traitor. How art thou prov’d Judas?
- PEDANT. Judas I am, —
- DUMAINE. The more shame for you, Judas.
- PEDANT. What mean you, sir?
- BOYET. To make Judas hang himself.
- PEDANT. Begin, sir; you are my elder.
- BEROWNE. Well follow’d: Judas was hang’d on an elder.
- PEDANT. I will not be put out of countenance.
- BEROWNE. Because thou hast no face.
- PEDANT. What is this?
- BOYET. A cittern-head.
- DUMAINE. The head of a bodkin.
- BEROWNE. A death’s face in a ring.
- LONGAVILLE. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
- BOYET. The pommel of Caesar’s falchion.
- DUMAINE. The carved bone face on a flask.
- Berowne, Saint George’s half-cheek in a brooch.
- DUMAINE. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.
- BEROWNE. Ay, and worn in the cap of a toothdrawer.
- And now, forward; for we have put thee in countenance.
- PEDANT. You have put me out of countenance.
- BEROWNE. False: we have given thee faces.
- PEDANT. But you have outfaced them all.
- BEROWNE. 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?
- DUMAINE. For the latter end of his name.
- BEROWNE. For the ass to the Jude? Give it him: Judas, away.
- PEDANT. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
- BOYET. A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble.
- {Exit PEDANT.}
- PRINCESS. Alas! Poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited.
- {Enter BRAGGART in costume.}
- BEROWNE. Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms.
- DUMAINE. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.
- KING. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this.
- BOYET. But is this Hector?
- KING. I think Hector was not so clean-timbered.
- LONGAVILLE. His leg is too big for Hector.
- DUMAINE. More calf, certain.
- BOYET. No; he is best induced in the small.
- BEROWNE. This cannot be Hector.
- DUMAINE. He’s a god or a painter; for he makes faces.
- BRAGGART. “The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift,” —
- DUMAINE. A gilt nutmeg.
- BEROWNE. A lemon.
- LONGAVILLE. Stuck with cloves.
- DUMAINE. No, cloven.
- BRAGGART. 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,” —
- DUMAINE. That mint. That columbine.
- BRAGGART. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.
- LONGAVILLE. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.
- DUMAINE. Ay, and Hector’s a greyhound.
- BRAGGART. 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. Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.
- PRINCESS. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.
- BRAGGART. I do adore thy sweet grace’s slipper.
- BOYET. Loves her by the foot.
- DUMAINE. He may not by the yard.
- BRAGGART. “This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,” —
- {Enter COSTARD.}
- COSTARD. The party is gone: fellow Hector, she is gone; She is two months on her way.
- BRAGGART. What meanest thou?
- COSTARD. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away: she’s quick; the child brags in her belly already: ’tis yours.
- BRAGGART. 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.
- DUMAINE. Most rare Pompey!
- BOYET. Renowned Pompey!
- BEROWNE. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey!
- Pompey the Huge!
- DUMAINE. Hector trembles.
- BEROWNE. Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates!
- Stir them on! Stir them on!
- DUMAINE. Hector will challenge him.
- BEROWNE. Ay, if a’ have no more man’s blood in his belly than will sup a flea.
- BRAGGART. 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 pray you, let me borrow my arms again.
- DUMAINE. Room for the incensed Worthies!
- COSTARD. I‘ll do it in my shirt.
- DUMAINE. Most resolute Pompey!
- PAGE. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower.
- Do you not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat?
- What mean you? You will lose your reputation.
- BRAGGART. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me;
- I will not combat in my shirt.
- DUMAINE. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made the challenge.
- BRAGGART. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
- BEROWNE. What reason have you for it?
- BRAGGART. 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 he wore none but a dishclout of Jaquenetta‘s, and that he wears next his heart for a favour.
- {Enter MARCADE.}
- MARCADE. God save you, madam!
- PRINCESS. Welcome, Marcade, But that thou interrupt’st our merriment.
- MARIA. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
- Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father —
- PRINCESS. Dead, for my life!
- MARCADE. Even so: my tale is told.
- BEROWNE. Worthies, away! The scene begins to cloud.
- BRAGGART. 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.
- {Exit BRAGGART and COSTARD.}
- KING. How fares your majesty?
- PRINCESS. Boyet, prepare: I will away to-night.
- KING. 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 humble tongue.
- Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
- For my great suit so easily obtain’d.
- KING. 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 purpos’d ; 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.
- BEROWNE. Honest plain words best pierce the ears 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 humors
- 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 straying shapes, of habits, and of forms,
- Varying in subjects, as the eye doth roll
- To every varied object in his glance:
- Which party-coated presence of loose love
- Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
- Have misbecom’d 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 receiv’d your letters full of love;
- Your favors, 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.
- DUMAINE. Our letters, madam, show’d much more than jest.
- LONGAVILLE. So did our looks.
- ROSALINE. We did not quote them so.
- KING. 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 perjur’d 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 their 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 expiration 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.
- KING. 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.
- BEROWNE. And what to me, my love? And what to me?
- ROSALINE. You must be purged too, your sins are rack’d:
- You are attaint with faults and perjury;
- Therefore, if you my favor mean to get,
- A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
- But seek the weary beds of people sick.
- DUMAINE. But what to me, my love? But what to me?
- KATHARINE. A wife! A beard, fair health, and honesty;
- With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
- DUMAINE. Oh! 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.
- DUMAINE. I‘ll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
- KATHARINE. Yet swear not, lest you 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.
- BEROWNE. 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 my love.
- ROSALINE. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne,
- 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 there withal to win me, if you please,
- Without 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.
- BEROWNE. 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
- Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
- Deaf d with the clamors of their own dear groans,
- Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
- And I will have you and that fault withal;
- But if they will not, throw away that spirit,
- And I shall find you empty of that fault,
- Right joyful of your reformation.
- BEROWNE. A twelvemonth! Well, befall what will befall,
- I’ll jest a twelvemonth in a hospital.
- PRINCESS. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave.
- KING. No, madam; we will bring you on your way.
- BEROWNE. Our wooing doth not end like an old play;
- Jack hath not Jill: these ladies’ courtesy
- Might well have made our sport a comedy.
- KING. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day,
- And then ’twill end.
- BEROWNE. That’s too long for a play.
- {Enter BRAGGART and JAQUENETTA.}
- BRAGGART. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, —
- PRINCESS. Was not that Hector?
- DUMAINE. The worthy knight of Troy.
- BRAGGART. I will kiss thy royal ring, and take leave, I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years.
- But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in praise of the owl and the cuckoo?
- It should have followed in the end of our show.
- KING. Call them forth quickly; we will do so.
- BRAGGART. Holla! Approach.
- {Enter PEDANT, CURATE, PAGE, and COSTARD.}
- BRAGGART. This side is Hiems, Winter;
- This Ver the Spring;
- The one maintained by the owl,
- the other by the cuckoo.
- Ver, begin.
- PEDANT. When daisies pied and violets blue
- And lady-smocks all silver-white
- And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
- Do paint the meadows with delight,
- The cuckoo then, on every tree,
- Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo.
- CURATE. Cuckoo, cuckoo : O word of fear,
- Unpleasing to a married ear!
- When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
- And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks,
- When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
- And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
- The cuckoo then, on every tree,
- Mocks married men; for thus sings he, “Cuckoo.”
- PAGE. “Cuckoo, cuckoo”: Oh word of fear,
- Unpleasing to a married ear
- When icicles hang by the wall,
- And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
- And Tom bears logs into the hall,
- And milk comes frozen Joan in pail,
- When blood is nipp’d, and ways be foul,
- Then nightly sings the staring owl, “Tu-whit.”
- COSTARD. “Tu-who,” a merry note,
- While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
- When all aloud the wind doth blow,
- And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
- And birds sit brooding in the snow,
- And Marian’s nose looks red and raw,
- When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
- Then nightly sings the staring owl, “Tu-whit”;
- “Tu-who,” a merry note,
- While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
- {Aside}The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
- {Finis.}
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