Part 110

BEROWNE. O, ’tis more than need. Have at you, then, affection’s men-at-arms. Consider what you first did swear unto: To fast, to study, and to see no woman— Flat treason ’gainst the kingly state of youth. Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young, And abstinence engenders maladies. O, we have made a vow to study, lords, And in that vow we have forsworn our books; For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, In leaden contemplation have found out Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes Of beauty’s tutors have enriched you with? Other slow arts entirely keep the brain, And therefore, finding barren practisers, Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil; But love, first learned in a lady’s eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain, But with the motion of all elements Courses as swift as thought in every power, And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye. A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind. A lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopped. Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible Than are the tender horns of cockled snails. Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. For valour, is not Love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as Sphinx, as sweet and musical As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair. And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Make heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were tempered with Love’s sighs. O, then his lines would ravish savage ears And plant in tyrants mild humility. From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive. They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish, all the world; Else none at all in aught proves excellent. Then fools you were these women to forswear, Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. For wisdom’s sake, a word that all men love, Or for love’s sake, a word that loves all men, Or for men’s sake, the authors of these women, Or women’s sake, by whom we men are men, Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. It is religion to be thus forsworn, For charity itself fulfils the law, And who can sever love from charity?

KING. Saint Cupid, then, and, soldiers, to the field!

BEROWNE. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords! Pell-mell, down with them! But be first advised In conflict that you get the sun of them.

LONGAVILLE. Now to plain dealing. Lay these glozes by. Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?

KING. And win them too. Therefore let us devise Some entertainment for them in their tents.

BEROWNE. First, from the park let us conduct them thither. Then homeward every man attach the hand Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon We will with some strange pastime solace them, Such as the shortness of the time can shape; For revels, dances, masques, and merry hours Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.

KING. Away, away! No time shall be omitted That will betime and may by us be fitted.

BEROWNE. _Allons! allons!_ Sowed cockle reaped no corn, And justice always whirls in equal measure. Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn; If so, our copper buys no better treasure.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT V

SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park

Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel and Dull.

HOLOFERNES. _Satis quod sufficit._

NATHANIEL. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious, pleasant without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this _quondam_ day with a companion of the King’s, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

HOLOFERNES. _Novi hominem tanquam te._ His humour is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.

NATHANIEL. A most singular and choice epithet.

[_Draws out his table-book._]

HOLOFERNES. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes, such insociable and point-devise companions, such rackers of orthography, as to speak “dout” _sine_ “b”, when he should say “doubt”, “det” when he should pronounce “debt”—_d, e, b, t_, not _d, e, t_. He clepeth a calf “cauf”, half “hauf”; neighbour _vocatur_ “nebour”, neigh abbreviated “ne”. This is abhominable, which he would call “abominable”. It insinuateth me of insanie. _Ne intelligis, domine?_ To make frantic, lunatic.

NATHANIEL. _Laus Deo, bone intelligo._

HOLOFERNES. _Bone? Bone_ for _bene?_ Priscian a little scratched; ’twill serve.

Enter Armado, Moth and Costard.

NATHANIEL. _Videsne quis venit?_

HOLOFERNES. _Video, et gaudeo._

ARMADO. _Chirrah!_

HOLOFERNES. _Quare_ “chirrah”, not “sirrah”?

ARMADO. Men of peace, well encountered.

HOLOFERNES. Most military sir, salutation.

MOTH. [_Aside to Costard_.] They have been at a great feast of languages and stolen the scraps.

COSTARD. O, they have lived long on the almsbasket of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou art not so long by the head as _honorificabilitudinitatibus_. Thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.

MOTH. Peace! The peal begins.

ARMADO. [_To Holofernes_.] Monsieur, are you not lettered?

MOTH. Yes, yes, he teaches boys the hornbook. What is _a, b_, spelt backward with the horn on his head?

HOLOFERNES. _Ba, pueritia_, with a horn added.

MOTH. _Ba_, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning.

HOLOFERNES. _Quis, quis_, thou consonant?

MOTH. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat them; or the fifth, if I.

HOLOFERNES. I will repeat them: _a, e, i_—

MOTH. The sheep. The other two concludes it: _o, u_.

ARMADO. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch, a quick venue of wit! Snip, snap, quick and home! It rejoiceth my intellect. True wit!

MOTH. Offered by a child to an old man—which is wit-old.

HOLOFERNES. What is the figure? What is the figure?

MOTH. Horns.

HOLOFERNES. Thou disputes like an infant. Go whip thy gig.

MOTH. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your infamy _unum cita_. A gig of a cuckold’s horn.

COSTARD. An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. O, an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me! Go to, thou hast it _ad dunghill_, at the fingers’ ends, as they say.

HOLOFERNES. O, I smell false Latin! _Dunghill_ for _unguem_.

ARMADO. Arts-man, preambulate. We will be singuled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the top of the mountain?

HOLOFERNES. Or _mons_, the hill.

ARMADO. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.

HOLOFERNES. I do, _sans question_.

ARMADO. Sir, it is the King’s most sweet pleasure and affection to congratulate the Princess at her pavilion in the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon.

HOLOFERNES. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon. The word is well culled, chose, sweet, and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure.

ARMADO. Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do assure ye, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy; I beseech thee, apparel thy head. And among other importunate and most serious designs, and of great import indeed, too—but let that pass. For I must tell thee it will please his Grace, by the world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder and with his royal finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio. But, sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable! Some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world. But let that pass. The very all of all is—but, sweet heart, I do implore secrecy—that the King would have me present the Princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden breaking-out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your assistance.

HOLOFERNES. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies. Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some show in the posterior of this day, to be rendered by our assistance, the King’s command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman, before the Princess, I say, none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies.

NATHANIEL. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?

HOLOFERNES. Joshua, yourself; myself; and this gallant gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus. This swain, because of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules.

ARMADO. Pardon, sir; error. He is not quantity enough for that Worthy’s thumb; he is not so big as the end of his club.

HOLOFERNES. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in minority. His enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose.

MOTH. An excellent device! So, if any of the audience hiss, you may cry “Well done, Hercules, now thou crushest the snake!” That is the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it.

ARMADO. For the rest of the Worthies?

HOLOFERNES. I will play three myself.

MOTH. Thrice-worthy gentleman!

ARMADO. Shall I tell you a thing?

HOLOFERNES. We attend.

ARMADO. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I beseech you, follow.

HOLOFERNES. _Via_, goodman Dull! Thou has spoken no word all this while.

DULL. Nor understood none neither, sir.

HOLOFERNES. _Allons!_ we will employ thee.

DULL. I’ll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play on the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.

HOLOFERNES. Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. The same. Before the Princess’s pavilion

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

PRINCESS. Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they That charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say.

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. 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. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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._]

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!_

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!_

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_—

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”.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

PRINCESS. Let it not be sweet.

BEROWNE. Thou griev’st my gall.

PRINCESS. Gall! Bitter.

BEROWNE. Therefore meet.

[_They converse apart._]

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”.

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.

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?

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.

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._]

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.

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?

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.