The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

still at odds, being but three.

MOTH. Until the goose came out of door, And stay’d the odds by adding four.

Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l’envoy.

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’envoy, 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’envoy; 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 call’d you for the l’envoy.

COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in; Then the boy’s fat l’envoy, 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’envoy.

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’envoy, 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: bear this significant [giving a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta; 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.

COSTARD. 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 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 seal’d-up counsel. There’s thy guerdon; go.

[Giving him a shilling]

COSTARD. 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 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 senior-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 watch’d that it may still go right!

Nay, to be perjur’d, 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

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ACT IV. SCENE I.

The park

 

Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS, ATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER

 

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was that the King that spurr’d his horse so hard

Against the steep uprising of the hill?

BOYET. I know not; but I think it was not he.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whoe’er ‘a was, ‘a show’d a mounting mind.

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?

FORESTER. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice; A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 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 OF FRANCE. What, what? First praise me, and again say no?

O short-liv’d pride! Not fair? Alack for woe!

FORESTER. Yes, madam, fair.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, never paint me now; Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.

Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: [ Giving him money]

Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

FORESTER. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. See, see, my beauty will be sav’d 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 OF FRANCE. 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 OF FRANCE. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

COSTARD. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 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 OF FRANCE. What’s your will, sir? What’s your will?

COSTARD. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one Lady Rosaline.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 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 OF FRANCE. We will read it, I swear.

Break the neck of the wax, and every one 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, 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 enrich’d; 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 OF FRANCE. 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 OF FRANCE. 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 OF FRANCE. Thou fellow, a word.

Who gave thee this letter?

COSTARD. I told you: my lord.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. To whom shouldst thou give it?

COSTARD. From my lord to my lady.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. From which lord to which lady?

COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, To a lady of France that he call’d Rosaline.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.

[To ROSALINE] Here, sweet, put up this; ‘twill be thine another day. Exeunt PRINCESS and TRAIN

BOYET. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?

ROSALINE. Shall I