This civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused.

Boyet. If my observation, which very seldom lies,

By the heart's still rhetoric disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 230 Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle affected.

Prin. Your reason?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire

To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire: His heart, like an agate, with your print impress'd,

Proud with his form, in his eye pride express'd:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair, 240
To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who, tendering their own worth from where they
were glass'd,

Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd:
His face's own margent did quote such amazes
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.
I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin. Come to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed.
Boyet. But to speak that in words which his
eye hath disclosed.

250

210

Mar.

No.

Biron. You are welcome, sir: adieu. Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to [Exit Biron.

you.

Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord:

Not a word with him but a jest.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The same.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

Concolinel.

Moth. [Singing. Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years: take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How meanest thou? brawling in French? Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up

Cost. 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.

Eiron. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.

149

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon
may a man buy for a remuneration?
biron. What is a remuneration?
Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.
Biron. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.
Cost. 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.

Cost. When would you have it done, sir?
Biron. This afternoon.

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well.
Biron. Thou knowest not what it is.
Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 160
Cost. 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 169 This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon: go. [Giving him a shilling. Cost. 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;

180

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:

190

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?
For. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder cop-
pice;

A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. 10
Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.
For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.
Prin. What, what? first praise me and again
say no?

O short-lived pride! Not fair? alack for woe!
For. Yes, madam, fair.
Prin.
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.
For. Nothing but fair is that which you in-
herit.

20

Prin. 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

30

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. Boyet.

Do not curst wives hold that selfsovereignty

Only for praise sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford

To any lady that subdues a lord.

40

Boyet. Here comes a member of the common

wealth.

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
Prin.

We will read it, I swear. Break the neck of the wax, and every one give

ear.

59 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

90

A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport

To the prince and his bookmates.
Prin.

Who gave thee this letter?
Cost.

Thou fellow, a word:

I told you; my lord. Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it? Cost. From my lord to my lady. Prin. From which lord to which lady? Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,

To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline. Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.

[To Ros.] Here, sweet, put up this: 'twill be thine another day.

[Exeunt Princess and train. Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor? Ros. Shall I teach you to know? 110 Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.

Ros.

Finely put off!

Why, she that bears the bow.

Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,

Hang me by the neck, if horns that year mis

carry. Finely put on!

Ros. Well, then, I am the shooter.
Boyet.
And who is your deer?
Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself

come not near.

Finely put on, indeed!

Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.

Boyet. But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?

120

Ros. 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. Ros. 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.

130

[Exeunt Ros. and Kath. Cost. By my troth, most pleasant: how both did fit it!

Mar. A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it.

Boyet. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!

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.

Prin. What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?

may be.

Mar. Wide o' the bow hand! i' faith, your

hand is out.

Cost. 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.

Cost. Then will she get the upshoot by cleav

ing the pin.

Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.

Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.

140

Boyet. I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Maria. Cost. 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!

150

[Shout within. [Exit Costard, running.

SCENE II. The same.

Enter HOLOFernes, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL. Nath. Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience.

Hol. 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.

Nath. 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. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

II

Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. Hol. 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. 20

Dull. I said the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket.

Hol. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus! O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

Nath. 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. 30 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,

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?

Hol. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.

Dull. What is Dictynna?

Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. Hol. The moon was a month old when Adam

was no more,

40

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.

Hol. 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.

Hol. 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.

Nath. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.

Hol. I will something affect the letter, for it argues facility.

The preyful princess pierced and prick'd a pretty pleasing pricket;

Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made

sore with shooting.

Dull. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent.

Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you: and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you: you are a good member of the commonwealth.

Hol. Meherele, if their sons be ingenuous, they shall want no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them: but vir sapit qui pauca loquitur; a soul feminine saluteth us.

Enter JAQUENETTA and Costard.

Faq. God give you good marrow, master Parson. Hol. Master Parson, quasi pers-on. An if

one should be pierced, which is the one? Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is