Original Text
SCENE II. The same. Before the Princess’s pavilion
Original Text
Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Katharine and Maria. PRINCESS. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, If fairings come thus plentifully in. A lady walled about with diamonds! Look you what I have from the loving King. ROSALINE. Madam, came nothing else along with that?
Original Text
PRINCESS. Nothing but this? Yes, as much love in rhyme As would be crammed up in a sheet of paper Writ o’ both sides the leaf, margent and all, That he was fain to seal on Cupid’s name. ROSALINE. That was the way to make his godhead wax, For he hath been five thousand years a boy.
Original Text
KATHARINE. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. ROSALINE. You’ll ne’er be friends with him. He killed your sister. KATHARINE. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; And so she died. Had she been light, like you, Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, She might ha’ been a grandam ere she died. And so may you, for a light heart lives long.
Original Text
ROSALINE. What’s your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word? KATHARINE. A light condition in a beauty dark. ROSALINE. We need more light to find your meaning out. KATHARINE. You’ll mar the light by taking it in snuff; Therefore I’ll darkly end the argument.
Original Text
ROSALINE. Look what you do, you do it still i’ th’ dark. KATHARINE. So do not you, for you are a light wench. ROSALINE. Indeed, I weigh not you, and therefore light. KATHARINE. You weigh me not? O, that’s you care not for me.
Original Text
ROSALINE. Great reason, for past cure is still past care. PRINCESS. Well bandied both; a set of wit well played. But, Rosaline, you have a favour too. Who sent it? And what is it?
Original Text
ROSALINE. I would you knew. An if my face were but as fair as yours, My favour were as great. Be witness this. Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne; The numbers true, and, were the numbering too, I were the fairest goddess on the ground. I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter.
Original Text
PRINCESS. Anything like? ROSALINE. Much in the letters, nothing in the praise. PRINCESS. Beauteous as ink: a good conclusion. KATHARINE. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
Original Text
ROSALINE. ’Ware pencils, how! Let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter. O, that your face were not so full of O’s! PRINCESS. A pox of that jest! And beshrew all shrews. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumaine? KATHARINE. Madam, this glove.
Original Text
PRINCESS. Did he not send you twain? KATHARINE. Yes, madam, and moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover. A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compiled, profound simplicity. MARIA. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville. The letter is too long by half a mile.
Original Text
PRINCESS. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart The chain were longer and the letter short? MARIA. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. PRINCESS. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.
Original Text
ROSALINE. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. That same Berowne I’ll torture ere I go. O that I knew he were but in by th’ week! How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek, And wait the season, and observe the times, And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes, And shape his service wholly to my hests, And make him proud to make me proud that jests! So pair-taunt-like would I o’ersway his state, That he should be my fool, and I his fate.
Original Text
PRINCESS. None are so surely caught, when they are catched, As wit turned fool. Folly, in wisdom hatched, Hath wisdom’s warrant and the help of school And wit’s own grace to grace a learned fool. ROSALINE. The blood of youth burns not with such excess As gravity’s revolt to wantonness.
Original Text
MARIA. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note As fool’ry in the wise when wit doth dote, Since all the power thereof it doth apply To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. Enter Boyet. PRINCESS. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
Original Text
BOYET. O, I am stabbed with laughter! Where’s her Grace? PRINCESS. Thy news, Boyet? BOYET. Prepare, madam, prepare! Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are Against your peace. Love doth approach disguised, Armed in arguments. You’ll be surprised. Muster your wits, stand in your own defence, Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.
Original Text
PRINCESS. Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they That charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say.
Original Text
BOYET. Under the cool shade of a sycamore I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour, When, lo, to interrupt my purposed rest, Toward that shade I might behold addressed The King and his companions. Warily I stole into a neighbour thicket by, And overheard what you shall overhear: That, by and by, disguised they will be here. Their herald is a pretty knavish page That well by heart hath conned his embassage.
Original Text
Action and accent did they teach him there: “Thus must thou speak,” and “thus thy body bear.” And ever and anon they made a doubt Presence majestical would put him out; “For,” quoth the King, “an angel shalt thou see; Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.” The boy replied “An angel is not evil; I should have feared her had she been a devil.” With that all laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
Original Text
One rubbed his elbow thus, and fleered, and swore A better speech was never spoke before. Another with his finger and his thumb Cried “_Via_, we will do ’t, come what will come.” The third he capered, and cried “All goes well!” The fourth turned on the toe, and down he fell. With that they all did tumble on the ground, With such a zealous laughter, so profound, That in this spleen ridiculous appears, To check their folly, passion’s solemn tears.
Original Text
PRINCESS. But what, but what, come they to visit us? BOYET. They do, they do, and are apparelled thus, Like Muscovites, or Russians, as I guess. Their purpose is to parley, court, and dance, And every one his love-feat will advance Unto his several mistress, which they’ll know By favours several which they did bestow.
Original Text
PRINCESS. And will they so? The gallants shall be tasked; For, ladies, we will every one be masked, And not a man of them shall have the grace, Despite of suit, to see a lady’s face. Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear, And then the King will court thee for his dear. Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, So shall Berowne take me for Rosaline. And change you favours too; so shall your loves Woo contrary, deceived by these removes.
Original Text
ROSALINE. Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight. KATHARINE. But in this changing, what is your intent? PRINCESS. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs. They do it but in mocking merriment, And mock for mock is only my intent. Their several counsels they unbosom shall To loves mistook, and so be mocked withal Upon the next occasion that we meet, With visages displayed to talk and greet.
Original Text
ROSALINE. But shall we dance, if they desire us to’t? PRINCESS. No, to the death we will not move a foot, Nor to their penned speech render we no grace, But while ’tis spoke each turn away her face. BOYET. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker’s heart, And quite divorce his memory from his part.
Original Text
PRINCESS. Therefore I do it, and I make no doubt The rest will ne’er come in, if he be out. There’s no such sport as sport by sport o’erthrown, To make theirs ours and ours none but our own. So shall we stay, mocking intended game, And they, well mocked, depart away with shame. [_Sound trumpet, within._]
Original Text
BOYET. The trumpet sounds. Be masked; the maskers come. [_The Ladies mask._] Enter Blackamoors with music, Moth, with a speech, the King, Berowne, Longaville and Dumaine disguised. MOTH. _All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!_
Original Text
BOYET. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. MOTH. _A holy parcel of the fairest dames_ [_The Ladies turn their backs to him._] _That ever turned their_—backs—_to mortal views!_
Original Text
BEROWNE. _Their eyes_, villain, _their eyes._ MOTH. _That ever turned their eyes to mortal views. Out_— BOYET. True; out indeed. MOTH. _Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold_—
Original Text
BEROWNE. _Once to behold_, rogue! MOTH. _Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes— With your sun-beamed eyes_— BOYET. They will not answer to that epithet. You were best call it “daughter-beamed eyes”.
Original Text
MOTH. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. BEROWNE. Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue! [_Exit Moth._] ROSALINE. What would these strangers? Know their minds, Boyet. If they do speak our language, ’tis our will That some plain man recount their purposes. Know what they would.
Original Text
BOYET. What would you with the Princess? BEROWNE. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. ROSALINE. What would they, say they? BOYET. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
Original Text
ROSALINE. Why, that they have, and bid them so be gone. BOYET. She says you have it, and you may be gone. KING. Say to her we have measured many miles To tread a measure with her on this grass. BOYET. They say that they have measured many a mile To tread a measure with you on this grass.
Original Text
ROSALINE. It is not so. Ask them how many inches Is in one mile? If they have measured many, The measure then of one is easily told. BOYET. If to come hither you have measured miles, And many miles, the Princess bids you tell How many inches doth fill up one mile.
Original Text
BEROWNE. Tell her we measure them by weary steps. BOYET. She hears herself. ROSALINE. How many weary steps Of many weary miles you have o’ergone Are numbered in the travel of one mile?
Original Text
BEROWNE. We number nothing that we spend for you. Our duty is so rich, so infinite, That we may do it still without account. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, That we, like savages, may worship it. ROSALINE. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
Original Text
KING. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine, Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne. ROSALINE. O vain petitioner! Beg a greater matter! Thou now requests but moonshine in the water. KING. Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change. Thou bidd’st me beg; this begging is not strange.
Original Text
ROSALINE. Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon. [_Music plays._] Not yet? No dance! Thus change I like the moon. KING. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?
Original Text
ROSALINE. You took the moon at full, but now she’s changed. KING. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The music plays, vouchsafe some motion to it. ROSALINE. Our ears vouchsafe it. KING. But your legs should do it.
Original Text
ROSALINE. Since you are strangers and come here by chance, We’ll not be nice. Take hands. We will not dance. KING. Why take we hands then? ROSALINE. Only to part friends. Curtsy, sweet hearts, and so the measure ends.
Original Text
KING. More measure of this measure! Be not nice. ROSALINE. We can afford no more at such a price. KING. Price you yourselves? What buys your company? ROSALINE. Your absence only.
Original Text
KING. That can never be. ROSALINE. Then cannot we be bought. And so adieu— Twice to your visor, and half once to you! KING. If you deny to dance, let’s hold more chat. ROSALINE. In private then.
Original Text
KING. I am best pleased with that. [_They converse apart._] BEROWNE. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. PRINCESS. Honey, and milk, and sugar: there is three.
Original Text
BEROWNE. Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice, Metheglin, wort, and malmsey. Well run, dice! There’s half a dozen sweets. PRINCESS. Seventh sweet, adieu. Since you can cog, I’ll play no more with you. BEROWNE. One word in secret.
Original Text
PRINCESS. Let it not be sweet. BEROWNE. Thou griev’st my gall. PRINCESS. Gall! Bitter. BEROWNE. Therefore meet. [_They converse apart._]
Original Text
DUMAINE. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? MARIA. Name it. DUMAINE. Fair lady— MARIA. Say you so? Fair lord! Take that for your “fair lady”.
Original Text
DUMAINE. Please it you, As much in private, and I’ll bid adieu. [_They converse apart._] KATHARINE. What, was your visor made without a tongue? LONGAVILLE. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
Original Text
KATHARINE. O, for your reason! Quickly, sir, I long. LONGAVILLE. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my speechless visor half. KATHARINE. “Veal”, quoth the Dutchman. Is not veal a calf? LONGAVILLE. A calf, fair lady?
Original Text
KATHARINE. No, a fair lord calf. LONGAVILLE. Let’s part the word. KATHARINE. No, I’ll not be your half. Take all and wean it; it may prove an ox. LONGAVILLE. Look how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks. Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so.
Original Text
KATHARINE. Then die a calf before your horns do grow. LONGAVILLE. One word in private with you ere I die. KATHARINE. Bleat softly, then; the butcher hears you cry. [_They converse apart._]
Original Text
BOYET. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor’s edge invisible, Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen; Above the sense of sense, so sensible Seemeth their conference. Their conceits have wings Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things. ROSALINE. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.
Original Text
BEROWNE. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! KING. Farewell, mad wenches. You have simple wits. [_Exeunt King, Lords and Blackamoors._] PRINCESS. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. Are these the breed of wits so wondered at?
Original Text
BOYET. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puffed out. ROSALINE. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat. PRINCESS. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! Will they not, think you, hang themselves tonight? Or ever but in vizors show their faces? This pert Berowne was out of countenance quite.
Original Text
ROSALINE. They were all in lamentable cases. The King was weeping-ripe for a good word. PRINCESS. Berowne did swear himself out of all suit. MARIA. Dumaine was at my service, and his sword. “_Non point_,” quoth I; my servant straight was mute.
Original Text
KATHARINE. Lord Longaville said I came o’er his heart; And trow you what he called me? PRINCESS. Qualm, perhaps. KATHARINE. Yes, in good faith. PRINCESS. Go, sickness as thou art!
Original Text
ROSALINE. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. But will you hear? The King is my love sworn. PRINCESS. And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me. KATHARINE. And Longaville was for my service born. MARIA. Dumaine is mine as sure as bark on tree.
Original Text
BOYET. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear. Immediately they will again be here In their own shapes, for it can never be They will digest this harsh indignity. PRINCESS. Will they return? BOYET. They will, they will, God knows, And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows. Therefore, change favours and, when they repair, Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.
Original Text
PRINCESS. How “blow”? How “blow”? Speak to be understood. BOYET. Fair ladies masked are roses in their bud. Dismasked, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. PRINCESS. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do If they return in their own shapes to woo?
Original Text
ROSALINE. Good madam, if by me you’ll be advised, Let’s mock them still, as well known as disguised. Let us complain to them what fools were here, Disguised like Muscovites in shapeless gear; And wonder what they were, and to what end Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penned, And their rough carriage so ridiculous, Should be presented at our tent to us.
Original Text
BOYET. Ladies, withdraw. The gallants are at hand. PRINCESS. Whip to our tents, as roes run o’er the land. [_Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Katharine and Maria._] Enter the King, Berowne, Longaville and Dumaine as themselves.
Original Text
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._]
Original Text
BEROWNE. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons peas And utters it again when God doth please. He is wit’s pedlar, 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 kissed his hand away in courtesy.
Original Text
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 everyone, To show his teeth as white as whale’s bone; And consciences that will not die in debt Pay him the due of “honey-tongued Boyet”.
Original Text
KING. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, That put Armado’s page out of his part! Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine with Boyet. BEROWNE. See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou Till this man showed thee, and what art thou now?
Original Text
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.
Original Text
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 perjured men. KING. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke. The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
Original Text
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, vowed with integrity.
Original Text
KING. O, you have lived 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?
Original Text
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 stayed an hour And talked 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.
Original Text
BEROWNE. This jest is dry to me. My 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—
Original Text
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. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. ROSALINE. All the fool mine?
Original Text
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 showed the better face.
Original Text
KING. We are descried. They’ll mock us now downright. DUMAINE. Let us confess and turn it to a jest. PRINCESS. Amazed, my lord? Why looks your Highness sad? ROSALINE. Help! Hold his brows! He’ll swoon. Why look you pale? Seasick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
Original Text
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. O, never will I trust to speeches penned, Nor to the motion of a school-boy’s tongue,
Original Text
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 affectation, 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 expressed In russet yeas and honest kersey noes.
Original Text
And, to begin: wench, so God help me, law, My love to thee is sound, _sans_ crack or flaw.
Original Text
ROSALINE. _Sans_ “_sans_,” I pray you. BEROWNE. Yet I have a trick Of the old rage. Bear with me, I am sick; I’ll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us 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.
Original Text
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.
Original Text
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 not you here but even now, disguised?
Original Text
KING. Madam, I was. PRINCESS. And were you well advised? KING. I was, fair madam. PRINCESS. When you then were here, What did you whisper in your lady’s ear?
Original Text
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.
Original Text
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 lover.
Original Text
PRINCESS. God give thee joy of him! The noble lord Most honourably 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.
Original Text
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?
Original Text
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 disclosed, The ladies did change favours, and then we,
Original Text
Following the signs, wooed but the sign of she. Now, to our perjury to add more terror, We are again forsworn in will and error. Much upon this ’tis. [_To Boyet_.] And might not you Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue? Do not you know my lady’s foot by th’ squier, 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 allowed;
Original Text
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.
Original Text
BOYET. Full merrily Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. BEROWNE. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! I have done. Enter Costard. Welcome, pure wit! Thou part’st a fair fray.
Original Text
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.
Original Text
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?
Original Text
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?
Original Text
COSTARD. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount. For mine own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man in one poor man—Pompion 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.
Original Text
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.
Original Text
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’errule you now. That sport best pleases that doth least know how, Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Die in the zeal of that which it presents; Their form confounded makes most form in mirth, When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Original Text
BEROWNE. A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter Armado, the Braggart. ARMADO. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words. [_Armado and King talk apart._]
Original Text
PRINCESS. Doth this man serve God? BEROWNE. Why ask you? PRINCESS. He speaks not like a man of God his making. ARMADO. That is 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 de la guerra_. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement! [_Exit._]
Original Text
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.
Original Text
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 amain. Enter Costard as Pompey.
Original Text
COSTARD. _I Pompey am_— BEROWNE. You lie, you are not he. COSTARD. _I Pompey am_— BOYET. With leopard’s head on knee.
Original Text
BEROWNE. Well said, old mocker. I must needs be friends with thee. COSTARD. _I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big._ DUMAINE. 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.
Original Text
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 Nathaniel, the Curate, for Alexander.
Original Text
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 to right. BEROWNE. Your nose smells “no” in this, most tender-smelling knight.
Original Text
PRINCESS. The conqueror is dismayed. Proceed, good Alexander. NATHANIEL. _When in the world I lived, I was the world’s commander_— BOYET. Most true; ’tis right. You were so, Alisander. BEROWNE. Pompey the Great—
Original Text
COSTARD. Your servant, and Costard. BEROWNE. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.
Original Text
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 pole-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. [_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.
Original Text
PRINCESS. Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter Holofernes, the Pedant, as Judas, and Moth, the Boy, as Hercules.
Original Text
HOLOFERNES. _Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club killed Cerberus, that three-headed_ canus, _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._—
Original Text
DUMAINE. A Judas! HOLOFERNES. Not Iscariot, sir. _Judas I am, ycleped Maccabaeus._ DUMAINE. Judas Maccabaeus clipped is plain Judas. BEROWNE. A kissing traitor. How art thou proved Judas?
Original Text
HOLOFERNES. _Judas I am_— DUMAINE. The more shame for you, Judas. HOLOFERNES. What mean you, sir? BOYET. To make Judas hang himself.
Original Text
HOLOFERNES. Begin, sir; you are my elder. BEROWNE. Well followed. Judas was hanged on an elder. HOLOFERNES. I will not be put out of countenance. BEROWNE. Because thou hast no face.
Original Text
HOLOFERNES. What is this? BOYET. A cittern-head. DUMAINE. The head of a bodkin. BEROWNE. A death’s face in a ring.
Original Text
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.
Original Text
DUMAINE. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. BEROWNE. 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. BEROWNE. False. We have given thee faces.
Original Text
HOLOFERNES. 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.
Original Text
BEROWNE. 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. [_Exit Holofernes._]
Original Text
PRINCESS. Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited! Enter Armado, the Braggart, as Hector. BEROWNE. Hide thy head, Achilles. Here comes Hector in arms. DUMAINE. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.
Original Text
KING. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. BOYET. But is this Hector? DUMAINE. I think Hector was not so clean-timbered. LONGAVILLE. His leg is too big for Hector’s.
Original Text
DUMAINE. More calf, certain. BOYET. No, he is best endued in the small. BEROWNE. This cannot be Hector. DUMAINE. He’s a god or a painter, for he makes faces.
Original Text
ARMADO. _The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift_— DUMAINE. A gilt nutmeg. BEROWNE. A lemon. LONGAVILLE. Stuck with cloves.
Original Text
DUMAINE. No, cloven. 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_—
Original Text
DUMAINE. That mint. LONGAVILLE. That columbine. ARMADO. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. LONGAVILLE. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.
Original Text
DUMAINE. Ay, and Hector’s a greyhound. 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.
Original Text
ARMADO. I do adore thy sweet Grace’s slipper. BOYET. Loves her by the foot. DUMAINE. He may not by the yard. ARMADO. _This Hector far surmounted Hannibal. The party is gone_—
Original Text
COSTARD. Fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. ARMADO. 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. ARMADO. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die.
Original Text
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!
Original Text
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 he have no more man’s blood in his belly than will sup a flea.
Original Text
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. DUMAINE. Room for the incensed Worthies! COSTARD. I’ll do it in my shirt.
Original Text
DUMAINE. 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. ARMADO. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me. I will not combat in my shirt. DUMAINE. You may not deny it. Pompey hath made the challenge.
Original Text
ARMADO. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. BEROWNE. What reason have you for ’t? ARMADO. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt. I go woolward for penance.
Original Text
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 he wears next his heart for a favour. Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcadé. MARCADÉ. God save you, madam.
Original Text
PRINCESS. Welcome, Marcadé, But that thou interruptest our merriment. MARCADÉ. I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father— PRINCESS. Dead, for my life! MARCADÉ. Even so. My tale is told.
Original Text
BEROWNE. Worthies away! The scene begins to cloud. 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._]
Original Text
KING. How fares your Majesty? PRINCESS. Boyet, prepare. I will away tonight. KING. Madam, not so. I do beseech you stay.
Original Text
PRINCESS. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours, 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 obtained.
Original Text
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 jostle 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.
Original Text
PRINCESS. I understand you not. My griefs are double.
Original Text
BEROWNE. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief; And by these badges understand the King. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Played foul play with our oaths. Your beauty, ladies, Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours Even to the opposed end of our intents; And what in us hath seemed ridiculous— As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, Formed by the eye and therefore, like the eye,
Original Text
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
Original Text
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.
Original Text
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.
Original Text
DUMAINE. Our letters, madam, showed 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.
Original Text
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
Original Text
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 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 instance, shut
Original Text
My woeful self up in a mournful 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.
Original Text
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 hermit, then. My heart is in thy breast. [_They converse apart_] DUMAINE. And what to me, my love? But what to me? A wife?
Original Text
KATHARINE. A beard, fair health, and honesty; With threefold love I wish you all these three. DUMAINE. O, shall I say, “I thank you, gentle wife”? KATHARINE. No 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.
Original Text
DUMAINE. I’ll serve thee true and faithfully till then. KATHARINE. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again. [_They converse apart_] LONGAVILLE. What says Maria?
Original Text
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. [_They converse apart_]
Original Text
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 thy love.
Original Text
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 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
Original Text
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
Original Text
BEROWNE. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be, it is impossible. Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
Original Text
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, Deafed with the clamours 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.
Original Text
BEROWNE. A twelvemonth? Well, befall what will befall, I’ll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. PRINCESS. [_To the King_.] 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.
Original Text
KING. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, And then ’twill end. BEROWNE. That’s too long for a play. Enter Armado, the Braggart. ARMADO. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me—
Original Text
PRINCESS. Was not that Hector? DUMAINE. The worthy knight of Troy. ARMADO. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three year. 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.
Original Text
KING. Call them forth quickly; we will do so. ARMADO. Holla! Approach. Enter all. This side is _Hiems_, Winter; this _Ver_, the Spring; the one maintained by the owl, th’ other by the cuckoo. _Ver_, begin. The Song
Original Text
SPRING. 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! Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.
Original Text
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! Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.
Original Text
WINTER. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipped, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl: “Tu-whit, Tu-whoo!” A merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow,
Original Text
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-whoo!” A merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Original Text
ARMADO. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that way, we this way. [_Exeunt._]