# The Complete Works of William Shakespeare ## Part 108 Book page: https://www.cyberlibrary.org/en/books/the-complete-works-of-william-shakespeare-100/index.md PRINCESS. “Fair” I give you back again, and “welcome” I have not yet. The roof of this court is too high to be yours, and welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine. KING. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. PRINCESS. I will be welcome then. Conduct me thither. KING. Hear me, dear lady. I have sworn an oath. PRINCESS. Our Lady help my lord! He’ll be forsworn. KING. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. PRINCESS. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else. KING. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. PRINCESS. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. I hear your Grace hath sworn out housekeeping. ’Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, And sin to break it. But pardon me, I am too sudden bold. To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [_She gives him a paper._] KING. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. PRINCESS. You will the sooner that I were away, For you’ll prove perjured if you make me stay. [_The King reads the paper._] BEROWNE. [_To Rosaline_.] Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? ROSALINE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? BEROWNE. I know you did. ROSALINE. How needless was it then To ask the question! BEROWNE. You must not be so quick. ROSALINE. ’Tis long of you that spur me with such questions. BEROWNE. Your wit’s too hot, it speeds too fast, ’twill tire. ROSALINE. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. BEROWNE. What time o’ day? ROSALINE. The hour that fools should ask. BEROWNE. Now fair befall your mask. ROSALINE. Fair fall the face it covers. BEROWNE. And send you many lovers! ROSALINE. Amen, so you be none. BEROWNE. Nay, then will I be gone. KING. Madam, your father here doth intimate The payment of a hundred thousand crowns, Being but the one half of an entire sum Disbursed by my father in his wars. But say that he or we, as neither have, Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid A hundred thousand more, in surety of the which One part of Aquitaine is bound to us, Although not valued to the money’s worth. If then the King your father will restore But that one half which is unsatisfied, We will give up our right in Aquitaine, And hold fair friendship with his majesty. But that, it seems, he little purposeth; For here he doth demand to have repaid A hundred thousand crowns, and not demands, On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, To have his title live in Aquitaine, Which we much rather had depart withal, And have the money by our father lent, Than Aquitaine, so gelded as it is. Dear Princess, were not his requests so far From reason’s yielding, your fair self should make A yielding ’gainst some reason in my breast, And go well satisfied to France again. PRINCESS. You do the King my father too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name, In so unseeming to confess receipt Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. KING. I do protest I never heard of it; And, if you prove it, I’ll repay it back Or yield up Aquitaine. PRINCESS. We arrest your word. Boyet, you can produce acquittances For such a sum from special officers Of Charles his father. KING. Satisfy me so. BOYET. So please your Grace, the packet is not come Where that and other specialties are bound. Tomorrow you shall have a sight of them. KING. It shall suffice me; at which interview All liberal reason I will yield unto. Meantime receive such welcome at my hand As honour, without breach of honour, may Make tender of to thy true worthiness. You may not come, fair Princess, in my gates, But here without you shall be so received As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart, Though so denied fair harbour in my house. Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell. Tomorrow shall we visit you again. PRINCESS. Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace. KING. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place. [_Exeunt the King, Longaville and Dumaine._] BEROWNE. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart. ROSALINE. Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it. BEROWNE. I would you heard it groan. ROSALINE. Is the fool sick? BEROWNE. Sick at the heart. ROSALINE. Alack, let it blood. BEROWNE. Would that do it good? ROSALINE. My physic says “ay”. BEROWNE. Will you prick’t with your eye? ROSALINE. _Non point_, with my knife. BEROWNE. Now, God save thy life. ROSALINE. And yours from long living. BEROWNE. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [_He exits._] Enter Dumaine. DUMAINE. Sir, I pray you, a word. What lady is that same? BOYET. The heir of Alençon, Katharine her name. DUMAINE. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. [_He exits._] Enter Longaville. LONGAVILLE. I beseech you a word. What is she in the white? BOYET. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light. LONGAVILLE. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name. BOYET. She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame. LONGAVILLE. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? BOYET. Her mother’s, I have heard. LONGAVILLE. God’s blessing on your beard! BOYET. Good sir, be not offended. She is an heir of Falconbridge. LONGAVILLE. Nay, my choler is ended. She is a most sweet lady. BOYET. Not unlike, sir; that may be. [_Exit Longaville._] Enter Berowne. BEROWNE. What’s her name in the cap? BOYET. Rosaline, by good hap. BEROWNE. Is she wedded or no? BOYET. To her will, sir, or so. BEROWNE. You are welcome, sir. Adieu. BOYET. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. [_Exit Berowne._] MARIA. That last is Berowne, the merry madcap lord. Not a word with him but a jest. BOYET. And every jest but a word. PRINCESS. It was well done of you to take him at his word. BOYET. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board. KATHARINE. Two hot sheeps, marry! BOYET. And wherefore not ships? No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. KATHARINE. You sheep and I pasture. Shall that finish the jest? BOYET. So you grant pasture for me. [_He tries to kiss her._] KATHARINE. Not so, gentle beast. My lips are no common, though several they be. BOYET. Belonging to whom? KATHARINE. To my fortunes and me. PRINCESS. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree. This civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his bookmen, 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. PRINCESS. With what? BOYET. With that which we lovers entitle “affected”. PRINCESS. 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 impressed, Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed. 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, To feel only looking on fairest of fair. Methought all his senses were locked in his eye, As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; Who, tend’ring their own worth from where they were glassed, Did point you to buy them, along as you passed. 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. PRINCESS. Come, to our pavilion. Boyet is disposed. BOYET. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclosed. I only have made a mouth of his eye By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. ROSALINE. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully. MARIA. He is Cupid’s grandfather, and learns news of him. ROSALINE. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim. BOYET. Do you hear, my mad wenches? MARIA. No. BOYET. What, then, do you see? ROSALINE. Ay, our way to be gone. BOYET. You are too hard for me. [_Exeunt._] ACT III SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park Enter Armado the Braggart and Moth his Boy. ARMADO. Warble, child, make passionate my sense of hearing. MOTH. [_Singing_.] Concolinel. ARMADO. 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? ARMADO. 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 love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like o’er the shop of your eyes, with your arms crossed on your thin-belly doublet like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are compliments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of note—do you note me?—that most are affected to these. ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience? MOTH. By my penny of observation. ARMADO. But O—but O— MOTH. “The hobby-horse is forgot.” ARMADO. Call’st thou my love “hobby-horse”? MOTH. No, master. The hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love? ARMADO. Almost I had. MOTH. Negligent student! Learn her by heart. ARMADO. By heart and in heart, boy. MOTH. And out of heart, master. All those three I will prove. ARMADO. What wilt thou prove? MOTH. A man, if I live; and this, “by, in, and without,” upon the instant: “by” heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; “in” heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and “out” of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. ARMADO. I am all these three. MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. ARMADO. Fetch hither the swain. He must carry me a letter. MOTH. A message well sympathized: a horse to be ambassador for an ass. ARMADO. Ha, ha, what sayest thou? MOTH. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited. But I go. ARMADO. The way is but short. Away! MOTH. As swift as lead, sir. ARMADO. The meaning, pretty ingenious? Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? MOTH. _Minime_, honest master; or rather, master, no. ARMADO. I say lead is slow. MOTH. You are too swift, sir, to say so. Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun? ARMADO. Sweet smoke of rhetoric! He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that’s he. I shoot thee at the swain. MOTH. Thump then, and I flee. [_Exit._] ARMADO. A most acute juvenal, voluble and free of grace! By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face. Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is returned. Enter Moth and Costard. MOTH. A wonder, master! Here’s a costard broken in a shin. ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle. Come, thy _l’envoi_ begin. COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no _l’envoi_, no salve in the mail, sir. O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! No _l’envoi_, no _l’envoi_, no salve, sir, but a plantain. ARMADO. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take _salve_ for _l’envoi_, and the word _l’envoi_ for a _salve?_ MOTH. Do the wise think them other? Is not _l’envoi_ a _salve?_ ARMADO. No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it: The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee Were still at odds, being but three. There’s the moral. Now the _l’envoi_. MOTH. I will add the _l’envoi_. Say the moral again. ARMADO. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee Were still at odds, being but three. MOTH. Until the goose came out of door, And stayed the odds by adding four. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my _l’envoi_. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee Were still at odds, being but three. ARMADO. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four. MOTH. A good _l’envoi_, ending in the goose. Would you desire more? COSTARD. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that’s flat. Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose. Let me see: a fat _l’envoi_—ay, that’s a fat goose. ARMADO. Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin? MOTH. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin. Then called you for the _l’envoi_. COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in. Then the boy’s fat _l’envoi_, the goose that you bought; and he ended the market. ARMADO. But tell me, how was there a costard broken in a shin? MOTH. I will tell you sensibly. COSTARD. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth. I will speak that _l’envoi_. I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, Fell over the threshold and broke my shin. ARMADO. We will talk no more of this matter. COSTARD. Till there be more matter in the shin. ARMADO. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. COSTARD. O, marry me to one Frances! I smell some _l’envoi_, some goose, in this. ARMADO. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person. Thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound. COSTARD. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me loose. ARMADO. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance, and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: [_Giving him a letter_.] bear this significant to the country maid Jaquenetta. [_Giving money_.] There is remuneration for the best ward of mine honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. [_Exit._] MOTH. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu. [_Exit Moth._] COSTARD. My sweet ounce of man’s flesh, my incony Jew! 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 Berowne. BEROWNE. My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met. COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration? BEROWNE. What is a remuneration? COSTARD. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. BEROWNE. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk. COSTARD. I thank your worship. God be wi’ you. BEROWNE. Stay, slave. I must employ thee. As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. COSTARD. When would you have it done, sir? BEROWNE. This afternoon. COSTARD. Well, I will do it, sir. Fare you well. BEROWNE. Thou knowest not what it is. COSTARD. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. BEROWNE. Why, villain, thou must know first. COSTARD. I will come to your worship tomorrow morning. BEROWNE. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this: The Princess comes to hunt here in the park, And in her train there is a gentle lady; When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, And Rosaline they call her. Ask for her And to her white hand see thou do commend This sealed-up counsel. [_Gives him money._] There’s thy guerdon. Go. COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! Better than remuneration, a ’levenpence farthing better. Most sweet gardon! I will do it, sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration! [_Exit._] BEROWNE. And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love’s whip, A very beadle to a humorous sigh, A critic, nay, a night-watch constable, A domineering pedant o’er the boy, Than whom no mortal so magnificent! This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, This Signior Junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid, Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, Th’ 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 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 watched 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 whitely wanton with a velvet brow, With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes; Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard. And I to sigh for her, to watch for her, To pray for her! Go to, it is a plague That Cupid will impose for my neglect Of his almighty dreadful little might. Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan. Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [_Exit._] ACT IV SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park Enter the Princess, a Forester, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Boyet and other Lords. PRINCESS. Was that the King that spurred his horse so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill? BOYET. I know not, but I think it was not he. PRINCESS. Whoe’er he was, he showed a mounting mind. Well, lords, today we shall have our dispatch; On Saturday we will return to France. Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush That we must stand and play the murderer in? FORESTER. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice, A stand where you may make “the fairest shoot”. PRINCESS. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, And thereupon thou speak’st the fairest shoot. FORESTER. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. PRINCESS. What, what? First praise me, and again say no? O short-lived pride! Not fair? Alack for woe! FORESTER. Yes, madam, fair. PRINCESS. Nay, never paint me now. Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: [_She gives him money._] Fair payment for foul words is more than due. FORESTER. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. PRINCESS. See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit. O heresy in fair, fit for these days! A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. But come, the bow. Now mercy goes to kill, And shooting well is then accounted ill. Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: Not wounding, pity would not let me do’t; If wounding, then it was to show my skill, That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. And out of question so it is sometimes, Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, When, for fame’s sake, for praise, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart; As I for praise alone now seek to spill The poor deer’s blood, that my heart means no ill. BOYET. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty Only for praise’ sake, when they strive to be Lords o’er their lords? PRINCESS. Only for praise; and praise we may afford To any lady that subdues a lord. Enter Costard. BOYET. Here comes a member of the commonwealth. COSTARD. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady? PRINCESS. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads. COSTARD. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? PRINCESS. The thickest and the tallest. COSTARD. The thickest and the tallest. It is so, truth is truth. An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, One o’ these maids’ girdles for your waist should be fit. Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here. PRINCESS. What’s your will, sir? What’s your will? COSTARD. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one Lady Rosaline. PRINCESS. O, thy letter, thy letter! He’s a good friend of mine. Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve. Break up this capon. BOYET. I am bound to serve. This letter is mistook; it importeth none here. It is writ to Jaquenetta. PRINCESS. We will read it, I swear. Break the neck of the wax, and everyone give ear. BOYET. [_Reads_.] _By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible; true that thou art beauteous; truth itself that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The magnanimous and most illustrate King Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon, and he it was that might rightly say,_ “Veni, vidi, vici,” _which to annothanize in the vulgar—O base and obscure vulgar!_—videlicet, _He came, see, and overcame. He came, one; see, two; overcame, three. Who came? The King. Why did he come? To see. Why did he see? To overcome. To whom came he? To the beggar. What saw he? The beggar. Who overcame he? The beggar. The conclusion is victory. On whose side? The King’s. The captive is enriched. On whose side? The beggar’s. The catastrophe is a nuptial. On whose side? The King’s? No, on both in one, or one in both. I am the King, for so stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? Robes. For tittles? Titles. For thyself? Me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine in the dearest design of industry, Don Adriano de Armado. Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar ’Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey. Submissive fall his princely feet before, And he from forage will incline to play. But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then? Food for his rage, repasture for his den._ PRINCESS. What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter? What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better? BOYET. I am much deceived but I remember the style. PRINCESS. Else your memory is bad, going o’er it erewhile. BOYET. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in court, A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport To the Prince and his book-mates. PRINCESS. Thou, fellow, a word. Who gave thee this letter? COSTARD. I told you: my lord. PRINCESS. To whom shouldst thou give it? COSTARD. From my lord to my lady. PRINCESS. From which lord to which lady? COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, To a lady of France that he called Rosaline. PRINCESS. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away. Here, sweet, put up this: ’twill be thine another day. [_Exeunt all but Boyet, Rosaline, Maria and Costard._] BOYET. Who is the shooter? Who is the shooter? ROSALINE. Shall I teach you to know? BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty. ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off! BOYET. My lady goes to kill horns, but if thou marry, Hang me by the neck if horns that year miscarry. Finely put on! ROSALINE. Well, then, I am the shooter. BOYET. And who is your deer? ROSALINE. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near. Finely put on indeed! MARIA. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow. BOYET. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now? ROSALINE. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it? BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinevere of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it. ROSALINE. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, Thou canst not hit it, my good man. BOYET. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, An I cannot, another can. [_Exeunt Rosaline._] COSTARD. By my troth, most pleasant. How both did fit it! MARIA. A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it. BOYET. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady! Let the mark have a prick in’t, to mete at, if it may be. MARIA. Wide o’ the bow hand! I’ faith, your hand is out. COSTARD. Indeed, a’ must shoot nearer, or he’ll ne’er hit the clout.