Part 111

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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._]

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. 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”.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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—

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?

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.

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.

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, 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. And, to begin: wench, so God help me, law, My love to thee is sound, _sans_ crack or flaw.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

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, 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; 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.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

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._]

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._]

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.

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.

COSTARD. _I Pompey am_—

BEROWNE. You lie, you are not he.

COSTARD. _I Pompey am_—

BOYET. With leopard’s head on knee.

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.

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.

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.

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—

COSTARD. Your servant, and Costard.

BEROWNE. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

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.

PRINCESS. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter Holofernes, the Pedant, as Judas, and Moth, the Boy, as Hercules.

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._—

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?

HOLOFERNES. _Judas I am_—

DUMAINE. The more shame for you, Judas.

HOLOFERNES. What mean you, sir?

BOYET. To make Judas hang himself.

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.

HOLOFERNES. What is this?

BOYET. A cittern-head.

DUMAINE. The head of a bodkin.

BEROWNE. A death’s face in a ring.

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.

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.

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.

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._]

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.

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.

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.

ARMADO. _The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift_—

DUMAINE. A gilt nutmeg.

BEROWNE. A lemon.

LONGAVILLE. Stuck with cloves.

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_—

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.

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.

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_—

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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._]

KING. How fares your Majesty?

PRINCESS. Boyet, prepare. I will away tonight.

KING. Madam, not so. I do beseech you stay.

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.

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.

PRINCESS. I understand you not. My griefs are double.

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, 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 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.

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.

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.