Hol. What is this? Boyet. A cittern head. Dum. The head of a bodkin. Biron. A death's face in a ring. Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a toothdrawer. And now forward; for we have put thee in counte nance. Hol. You have put me out of countenance." Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.And so adicu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay? Dum. For the latter end of his name. Biron. For the ass to the Jude? give it him : Jud-as, away. Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas! it grows dark, he may stumble. [baited! Prin. Alas, poor Maccabeus, how hath he been Enter ARMADO armed, for Hector. Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms. Dum. 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. Long. His calf is too big for Hector. Dum. More calf, certain. Boyet. No; he is best indued in the small. Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. Arm. 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. [BIRON whispers COSTARD. Prin. Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted. Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. Dum. He may not by the yard. Arm. "This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,”Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. Arm. What meanest thou? Cost. 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. Årm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die. Cost. Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is quick by him, and hanged for Pompey that is dead by him. Dum. Most rare Pompey! Boyet. Renowned Pompey! Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the huge! Dum. Hector trembles. Biron. Pompey is moved.-More Ates, more Ates! stir them on! stir them on! Dum. Hector will challenge him. Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea. Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. Cost. 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. Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies! Dum. Most resolute Pompey! Moth. 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. Arm. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me: I will not combat in my shirt. Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge. Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt ; I go woolward for penance. Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen; since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a favour. I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole King. How fares your majesty? For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, King. The extreme part of time extremely forms That which long process could not arbitrate: From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost, Prin. I understand you not: my griefs are dull. Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief; And by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, To those that make us both,-fair ladies, you: Prin. We have receiv'd your letters full of love; Prin. A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in. Change not your offer made in heat of blood; Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts, I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut For the remembrance of my father's death. King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, me? Ros. You must be purgèd too, your sins are rank: You are attaint with faults and perjury; Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick. Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? Kath. A wife!-A beard, fair health, and honesty; With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Kath. Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say: Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Mar. At the twelvemonth's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long. Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young. Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, It cannot be; it is impossible: Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Biron. A twelvemonth! well, befall what will befall, I'll jest a twelvemonth in a hospital. Prin. [To the King.] Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. King. No, madam; we will bring you on your the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show. King. Call them forth quickly; we will do so. Re-enter HOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD, and others. This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin. SONG. Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, Do paint the meadows with delight, Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear! When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, Winter. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And milk comes frozen home in pail, To-whit, to-who, a merry note, When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, To-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this way. [Exeunt. АСТ І. SCENE I.-ATHENS. Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, THESEUS. Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Long withering out a young man's revenue. Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow New bent in heaven, shall behold the night Go, Philostrate, The. Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth: Turn melancholy forth to funerals,The pale companion is not for our pomp.[Exit PHILOSTRATE. Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, And won thy love, doing thee injuries; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS. Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke! The. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee? Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint Against my child, my daughter Hermia.Stand forth, Demetrius.-My noble lord, This man hath my consent to marry her.Stand forth, Lysander:-and, my gracious duke, This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child: With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; heart; Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,- The. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair maid: To you your father should be as a god; One that compos'd your beauties; yea, and one Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes. look. Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. I know not by what power I am made bold, Nor how it may concern my modesty, In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts; But I beseech your grace, that I may know The worst that may befall me in this case, The. Either to die the death, or to abjure Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires; The. Take time to pause; and, by the next new moon, The sealing-day betwixt my love and me For disobedience to your father's will, Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would; For aye, austerity and single life. Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia:-and, Lysander, Thy crazed title to my certain right. Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. [yield Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love, Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, And, which is more than all these boasts can be, Why should not I, then, prosecute my right? Upon this spotted and inconstant man. The. I must confess that I have heard so much, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; But, being over-full of self-affairs, My mind did lose it.-But, Demetrius, come; I have some private schooling for you both.— Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?- I must employ you in some business [Exeunt THES. HIP. EGE. DEM. and train. Lys. How now, my love! Why is your cheek so How chance the roses there do fade so fast? [pale? Her. Belike, for want of rain, which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. Lys. Ah me! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: Her. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low! Her. If, then, true lovers have been ever cross'd, It stands as an edict in destiny: Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross, As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. Lys. A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, I have a widow aunt, a dowager [Hermia. Of great revenue, and she hath no child: Her. My good Lysander! I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow; By the simplicity of Venus' doves; By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, Enter HELENA. Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away? Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, [air When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. Sickness is catching: O, were favour so, Yours would I catch, fair Hermia! ere I go, My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest I'll give to be to you translated. O, teach me how you look; and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart! Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. |