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Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives...

...live registered upon our brazen tombs, and then grace us in the disgrace of death

When, spite of cormorant devouring time, the endeavor of this present breath...

...may buy that honour which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge, and make us heirs of all eternity

Therefore, brave conquerors

For so you are, that war against your own affections, and the huge army of the world’s desires...

...our late edict shall strongly stand in force

Navarre shall be the wonder of the world

Our court shall be a little academe, still and contemplative in living art

You three, Berowne, Dumaine and Longaville, have sworn for three years’ term...

...to live with me, my fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes that are recorded in this schedule here

Your oaths are passed, and now subscribe your names

That his own hand may strike his honour down that violates the smallest branch herein

If you are armed to do as sworn to do, subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too

I am resolved. ’Tis but a three years’ fast. The mind shall banquet, though the body pine

My loving lord, Dumaine is mortified

To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die, with all these living in philosophy

I can but say their protestation over

So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, that is, to live and study here three years

But there are other strict observances

As not to see a woman in that term, which I hope well is not enrolled there

And one day in a week to touch no food, and but one meal on every day beside

The which I hope is not enrolled there

And then to sleep but three hours in the night...

...and not be seen to wink of all the day, which I hope well is not enrolled there

These are barren tasks, too hard to keep, not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep

- Your oath is passed to pass away from these - Let me say no, my liege, an if you please

I only swore to study with your grace, and stay here in your court for three years’ space

You swore to that, Berowne, and to the rest

By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. What is the end of study, let me know?

Why, that to know which else we would not know

- Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense? - Ay, that is study’s god-like recompense

Come on, then, I will swear to study so, to know the thing I am forbid to know

As thus: to study where I well may dine, when I to feast expressly am forbid

Or study where to meet some mistress fine, when mistresses from common sense are hid

These be the stops that hinder study quite, and train our intellects to vain delight

Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain, which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain

As painfully to pore upon a book...

...to seek the light of truth, while truth the while doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look

Light seeking light doth light of light beguile

So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, your light grows dark by losing of your eyes

Study is like the heaven’s glorious sun that will not be deep-searched with saucy looks

Small have continual plodders ever won save base authority from others’ books

- How well he’s read, to reason against reading - Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding

- He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding - The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding

- How follows that? - Fit in his place and time

Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost, that bites the first-born infants of the spring

Well, say I am. Why should proud summer boast before the birds have any cause to sing?

Why should I joy in an abortive birth?

At Christmas I no more desire a rose than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled shows

But like of each thing that in season grows

Well, sit you out. Go home, Berowne. Adieu

No, my good lord, I have sworn to stay with you

And though I have for barbarism spoke more than for that angel knowledge you can say...

...yet, confident, I’ll keep what I have sworn, and bide the penance of each three years’ day

How well this yielding rescues thee from shame

Give me the paper, let me read the same

‘Item: that no woman shall come within a mile of my court’

- Hath this been proclaimed? - Four days ago

Let me see the penalty... ‘on pain of losing her tongue’

- Who devised this penalty? - Marry, that did I

- Sweet lord, and why? - To fright them hence

A dangerous law against gentility

‘Item: if any man be seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years...’

‘...he shall endure such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise’

This article, my liege, yourself must break

For well you know here comes in embassy the French King’s daughter with yourself to speak...

...about surrender up of Aquitaine to her decrepit, sick and bedrid father

- What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot - So study evermore is overshot

And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, ’tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost

We must of force dispense with this decree. She must lie here on mere necessity

Necessity will make us all forsworn three thousand times within this three years’ space

If I break faith, this word shall speak for me. I am forsworn on mere ‘necessity’

So to the laws at large I write my name

And he that breaks them in the least degree stands in attainder of eternal shame

But I believe, although I seem so loath, I am the last that will last keep his oath

- But is there no quick recreation granted? - Ay, that there is

Our court, you know, is haunted with a refined traveller of Spain

A man in all the world’s new fashion planted, that hath a mint of phrases in his brain

This child of fancy, Don Armado hight, for interim to our studies...

...he’ll relate in high-born words the worth of many a knight from tawny Spain, lost in the world’s debate

How you delight, my lords, I know not, I

But I protest I love to hear him lie, and I will use him for my minstrelsy

Costard the swain and he shall be our sport. And so to study, three years is but short

- Which is the King’s own person? - This, fellow. What wouldst?

I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his majesty’s constable

- But I would see his own person in flesh and blood - This is he

Don Armado commends you. There’s villainy abroad. This letter will tell you more

Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me

- A letter from the magnificent Armado - How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words

- A high hope for a low heaven - God grant us patience

The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta

- The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner - In what manner?

In the manor-house. Such is the simplicity of man, to hearken after the flesh

- Will you hear this letter with attention? - As we would hear an oracle

‘Great deputy, the welkin’s viceregent and sole dominator of Navarre...’

Not a word of Costard yet. ‘So it was...’

It may be so. But if he say it was so, he is, in telling true, but so so

- Peace - ...be to me and every man that dares not fight

No words!

‘So it was, besieged with melancholy, I did commend the black humour...’

‘...to the most wholesome physic of thy health-giving air, and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk’

‘The time when? About the sixth hour, when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to supper’

‘So much for the time when. Now for the place where’

‘It standeth north-north-east of thy curious-knotted garden. It is called thy park’

- ‘There did I see that low-spirited swain...’ - Me?

- ‘That unlettered, small-knowing soul...’ - Me?

- ‘That base minnow of thy mirth...’ - Still me?

- ‘...Costard’ - Ay, me

- ‘...consort, contrary to thy proclaimed edict, with Jaquenetta, a child of our grandmother Eve’

‘Or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman’. A woman?

‘Him I have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment with thy sweet majesty’s officer, Anthony Dull’

Me, an’t shall please you. I am Dull

‘Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty, Don Adriano de Armado’

Sirrah, what say you to this? Did you not hear the proclamation?

I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it

It was proclaimed a year’s imprisonment to be taken with a wench

- I was taken with none, sir. I was taken with a damsel - Well, it was proclaimed ‘damsel’

- This was no damsel, neither, sir. She was a virgin - It is so varied, too, for it was proclaimed ‘virgin’

- If it were, I deny her virginity. I was taken with a maid - This maid will not serve your turn, sir

This maid will serve my turn, sir

Sir, I will pronounce your sentence. You shall fast a week with bran and water

I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge

And Don Armado shall be your keeper. My Lord Berowne, see him delivered over

Now go we, lords, to put in practice that which each to other hath so strongly sworn

I’ll lay my head to any goodman’s hat, these oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn

Sirrah, come on

I suffer for the truth, sir. For true it is, I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl

Welcome, therefore, the sour cup of prosperity

Affliction may one day smile again. And till then, sit thee down, sorrow

Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows melancholy?

A great sign, sir, that he will look sad

- Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp - No, no, O Lord, sir, no

How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender juvenal?

By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough signor

- Why tough signor? - Why tender juvenal?

I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epithet appertaining to thy young days...

...which we may nominate tender

And I, tough signor, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough

- Pretty and apt - How mean you, sir?

I pretty and my saying apt, or I apt and my saying pretty?

- Thou pretty, because little - Little pretty, because little

- Wherefore apt? - And therefore apt, because quick

- Speak you this in my praise, master? - In thy condign praise

- I will praise an eeI with the same praise - What, that an eel is apt?

- That an eel is quick - I do say thou art quick in answers. Thou heatest my blood

- I am answered, sir - I love not to be crossed

Boy, I will hereupon confess I am in love

And as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench

I think scorn to sigh. Methinks I should outswear Cupid. Comfort me, boy

- What great men have been in love? - Hercules, master

Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more

And, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage

Samson, master. He was a man of good carriage

Great carriage, for he carried the town-gates on his back like a porter, and he was in love

O well-knit Samson! Strong-jointed Samson! Who was Samson’s love, my dear Moth?

- A woman, master - Of what complexion?

- Of the sea-water green, sir - Is that one of the four complexions?

- As I have read, sir, and the best of them too - Green indeed is the colour of lovers

But to have a love of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason for it

- He surely affected her for her wit - It was so, sir, for she had a green wit

My love is most immaculate white and red

Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours

Define, define, well-educated infant

My father’s wit and my mother’s tongue assist me

Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty and pathetical

If she be made of white and red, Her faults will ne’er be known

For blushing cheeks by faults are bred And fears by pale white shown

Then if she fear, or be to blame, By this you shall not know

For still her cheeks possess the same Which native she doth owe

A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red

Is there not a ballad, boy, of King Cophetua and the beggar maid Zenelophon?

The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since, but I think now ’tis not to be found

I will have that subject newly writ over, that I may example my digression by some mighty precedent

Boy, I do love that country girl that I took in the park with that shallow vassal Costard

- She deserves well - To be beaten

- Sing, boy. My spirit grows heavy in love - And that’s a great marvel, loving a light wench

- I say, sing - Forbear till this company be past

Sir, the King’s pleasure is that you keep Costard safe

And you must suffer him to take no delight, but he must fast three days a week

For this damsel, I must keep her at the Lodge

I do betray myself with blushing

- Maid - Man

- I will visit thee at the Lodge - That’s hereby

- I know where it is situate - Lord, how wise you are

- I will tell thee wonders - With that face?

- I love thee - So I heard you say

- And so farewell - Fair weather after you

Come, Jaquenetta, away. Fare you well, sir

- Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences - Well, sir, I hope when I do it, it shall be on a full stomach

Thou shalt be heavily punished. Take away this villain. Shut him up

Come, you transgressing slave, away

- Let me not be pent up, sir. I will fast, being loose - No, sir, that were fast and loose

- Thou shalt to prison. Come, sir, away - Very well, Master Moth, I can be quiet

I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe, which is baser...

...guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread

I shall be forsworn, which is a great argument of falsehood, if I love

And how can that be true love which is falsely attempted?

Love is a devil, there is no evil angel but Love

Yet was Samson so tempted, and he had an excellent strength

Yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit

Cupid’s arrow is too sharp for Hercules’ club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard’s rapier

His disgrace is to be called boy, but his glory is to subdue men

Adieu, valour. Rust, rapier. Be still, drum. For your manager is in love, yea, he loveth

Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet

Devise, wit, Write, pen. For I am for whole volumes in folio

Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits

Consider who the King your father sends, to whom he sends, and what’s his embassy

Yourself, held precious in the world’s esteem, to parley...

...with the sole inheritor of all perfections that a man may owe, matchless Navarre

The plea of no less weight than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen

Be now as prodigal of all dear grace as Nature was in making graces dear...

...when she did starve the general world beside, and prodigally gave them all to you

Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, needs not the painted flourish of your praise

Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye, not uttered by base sale of chapmen’s tongues

I am less proud to hear you tell my worth than you much willing to be counted wise...

...in spending your wit in the praise of mine. But now to task the tasker

Good Boyet, you are not ignorant all-telling fame doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow

Till painful study shall outwear three years, no woman may approach his silent court

Therefore to us it seems a needful course...

...before we enter his forbidden gates, to know his pleasure

And in that behalf, bold of your worthiness, we single you as our best-moving fair solicitor

Tell him the daughter of the King of France, on serious business craving quick dispatch...

...importunes personal conference with his grace

Haste, signify so much, while we attend, like humble-visaged suitors, his high will

- Proud of employment, willingly I go - All pride is willing pride, and yours is so

Who are the votaries, my loving lords, that are vow-fellows with this virtuous King?

- Lord Longaville is one - Know you the man?

I know him, madam. At a marriage feast in Normandy, saw I this Longaville

A man of sovereign parts he is esteemed, well fitted in arts, glorious in arms

Nothing becomes him ill that he would well

- Who are the rest? - The young Dumaine

A well-accomplished youth, of all that virtue love for virtue loved

For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, and shape to win grace though he had no wit

I saw him at the Duke Alençon’s once

And much too little of that good I saw is my report to his great worthiness

Another of these students at that time was there with him, if I have heard a truth

Berowne they call him

And a merrier man, within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour’s talk withal

His eye begets occasion for his wit

For every object that the one doth catch, the other turns to a mirth-moving jest

Which his fair tongue, conceit’s expositor, delivers in such apt and gracious words...

...that aged ears play truant at his tales and younger hearings are quite ravished

So sweet and voluble is his discourse

God bless my ladies! Are they all in love...

...that every one her own hath garnished with such bedecking ornaments of praise?

- Here comes Boyet - Now, what admittance, lord?

Navarre had notice of your fair approach

And he and his competitors in oath were all addressed to meet you, gentle lady, before I came

Marry, thus much I have learned

He rather means to lodge you in the field, like one that comes here to besiege his court...

...than seek a dispensation for this oath to let you enter his unpeopled house

Here comes Navarre

Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre

‘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

- You shall be welcome, madam, to my court - I will be welcome, then. Conduct me thither

- Hear me, dear lady. I have sworn an oath... - Our Lady help my lord! He’ll be forsworn

- Not for the world, fair madam, by my will - Why, will shall break it, will and nothing else

- Your ladyship is ignorant what it is - Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise

I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping

’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

Madam, I will, if suddenly I may

You will the sooner that I were away, for you’ll prove perjured if you make me stay

- Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? - Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

- I know you did - How needless was it then to ask the question?

- You must not be so quick - ’Tis long of you, you spur me with such questions

- Your wit’s too hot, it speeds too fast, ’twill tire - Not till it leave the rider in the mire

- What time of day? - The hour that fools should ask

- Now fair befall your mask - Fair fall the face it covers

- And send you many lovers - Amen, so you be none

Nay, then will I be gone

Madam, your father here doth intimate the payment of a hundred thousand crowns

Being but the one half of an entire sum lent to him by my father for 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

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. 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

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

I do protest I never heard of it. But if you prove it, I’ll repay it back or yield up Aquitaine

We arrest your word. Boyet, you can produce acquittance s for such a sum from special officers of Charles, his father

- Satisfy me so - So please your grace...

...the packet is not come. Tomorrow you shall have a sight of them

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

- Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace - Thy own wish wish I thee in every place

Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart

Pray you, do my commendations. I would be glad to see it

- I would you heard it groan - Is the fool sick?

- Sick at the heart - Alack, let it blood

- Would that do it good? - My physic says ay

- Will you prick it with your eye? - Non point, with my knife

- Now, God save thy life - And yours from long living

I cannot stay thanksgiving

- Sir, I pray you, a word. What lady is that same? - The heir of Alençon, Katharine her name

A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well

I beseech you a word. What is she in the white?

A woman, an you saw her in the light

- I desire her name - She hath but one for herself. To desire that were a shame

- Pray you, sir, whose daughter? - Her mother’s, I have heard

God’s blessing on your beard

- Good sir, be not offended. She is an heir of Perigord - Nay, my choler is ended

- She is a most sweet lady - Not unlike, sir, that may be

- What’s her name in the cap? - Rosaline, by good hap

- Is she wedded or no? - To her will, sir, or so

- You are welcome, sir. Adieu - Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you

That last is Berowne, the merry madcap lord

- Not a word with him but a jest - And every jest but a word

- It was well done of you to take him at his word - I was as willing to grapple as he was to board

- Two hot sheep, marry - Wherefore sheep?

- No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips - My lips are no common, though several they be

- Belonging to whom? - To my fortunes and me

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

If my observation, which very seldom lies, by the heart’s still rhetoric disclosed with eyes...

- ...deceive me not now, Navarre is infected - With what?

- With that which we lovers entitle ‘affected’ - Your reason?

Why, all his behaviors 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

His face’s own margin 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

- Come to our pavilion. Boyet is disposed - 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

- Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully - He is Cupid’s grandfather, and workest wilfully

- Do you hear, my mad wenches? - No

- What then, do you see? - Ay, our way to be gone

You are too hard for me

So well I love thee, as without thee I love nothing, nothing without thee

If I might choose, I’d rather die than be one day debarred thy company

Warble, child

So well I love thee, as without thee I love nothing, nothing without thee

Your beauty haunts me still, Nor one poor minute’s rest

So well I love thee

Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part. Nay, I have done, you get no more of me

And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart that thus so cleanly I myself can free

Make passionate my sense of hearing

Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give enlargement to Costard the swain

Bring him festinately hither. I must employ him in a letter to my love

Master, will you win your love with a tune at the tongue’s end?

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 over the shop of your eyes, or your arms folded like the man in the old painting?

These are compliments, these are humours, these betray nice wenches

- Do you note me, master? - How hast thou purchased this experience?

By my penny of observation. But have you forgot your love?

- Almost I had - Negligent student! Learn her by heart

- By heart and in heart - And out of heart, master

- All these three I will prove - What wilt thou prove, boy?

A man if I live, and this ‘by’, ‘in’ and ‘out’ 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

I am all these three. Fetch hither the swain. He must carry me a letter

- I go - The way is but short. Away

- As swift as lead, sir - Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?

Is not lead a metal, heavy, dull and slow?

Minime, honest master. Or rather, master, no

- I say lead is slow - You are too swift, sir, to say so

- Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun? - Sweet smoke of rhetoric

He reputes me a cannon, and the bullet, that’s he

- I shoot thee at the swain - Thump then, and I flee

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

- A wonder, master. Here’s a costard broken in a shin - Some riddle, some enigma. Come, thy l’envoi, begin

No riddle, no enema, no l’envoi, no salve sir, but a plain plantain

The heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars

Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l’envoi, and l’envoi for a salve?

- Do the wise think them other? Is not l’envoi a salve? - No, it is an epilogue or discourse...

...to make plain some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee were still at odds, being but three

- There’s the moral. Now the l’envoi... - I will add the l’envoi. Say the moral again

The fox, the ape and the humble-bee were still at odds, being but three

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

Until the goose came out of door, staying the odds by adding four

Adding four

How did this argument begin?

By saying that a costard was broken in a shin. Then called you for the l’envoi

True, and I called for a plantain

- But tell me, how was there a costard broken in a shin? - I will tell you sensibly

Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth. I will speak this l’envoy

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, fell over the threshold and broke my shin

We will talk no more of this matter

- Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee - Marry me to one Frances?

By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty. Thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound

True, true, and now you will be my purgation and let me loose

I give thee thy liberty, and in lieu thereof impose on thee nothing but this

Bear this significant to the country maid

’Tis true that she is beauteous, truth itself that she is lovely. and Jaquenetta they call her. Come, there is emolument

- Go. Moth, follow - Like the sequel, I. Signor Costard, adieu

My sweet ounce of man’s flesh! Now will I look to his emolument

Emolument. O, that’s the Spanish word for three farthings

Three farthings... emolument

‘What’s the price of this inkle?’ ‘One penny’. ‘No, I’ll give you a emolument’

Why, it carries it. ‘Emolument’. I will never buy and sell out of this word

My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met

Pray you, sir, how much silk may a man buy for an emolument?

- What is the emolument? - Marry, sir, three farthings

Why then, three-farthings worth of silk

- I thank your worship. God be with you! - Stay, slave, I must employ thee

As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, do one thing for me that I shall entreat

- When would you have it done, sir? - This afternoon

- Well, I will do it, sir. Fare you well - Thou knowest not what it is

- I shall know, sir, when I have done it - Why, villain, thou must know first

- I will come to your worship tomorrow morning - 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

There’s thy remuneration, go

Remuneration, O sweet remuneration! Better than emolument

Elevenpence farthing better

Most sweet remuneration! I will do it sir

Remuneration... Emolument...

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 over the boy

Than whom no mortal so magnificent, this wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy

This Signor Junior, giant-dwarf, Don 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 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

Was that the King, that spurred his horse so hard against the steep-up rising of the hill?

I know not, but I think it was not he

Whoe’er he was, he showed a mounting mind

Well, friends, 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?

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

I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, and thereupon thou speakest ‘the fairest shoot’

Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so

What, what? First praise me, and again say no? O short-lived pride! Not fair? Alack for woe

- Yes, madam, fair - 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

- Nothing but fair is that which you inherit - See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit

But come, the gun. 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 it

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

Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty only for praise’ sake...

...when they strive to be lords over their lords?

Only for praise, and praise we may afford to any lady that subdues a lord

- God dig-you-den-all - Here comes a member of the commonwealth

Pray you, which is the head lady?

Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads

- Which is the greatest lady, the highest? - The thickest and the tallest

The thickest and the tallest. It is so, truth is truth

Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here

- What’s your will, sir? What’s your will? - I have a letter from Lord Berowne to one Lady Rosaline

O, thy letter, thy letter! He’s a good friend of mine. Stand aside, good bearer

Boyet, you can carve. Break up this capon, and everyone give ear

I am bound to serve

‘By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible, tru e that thou art beauteous, truth itself that thou art lovely’

‘The magnanimous King Cophetua set eye upon the most indubitate beggar maid Zenelophon’

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here

- It is writ to Jaquenetta - ‘From Don Adriano de Armado’

This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in court

Thou fellow, a word. Who gave thee this letter?

- I told you, my lord - To whom shouldst thou give it?

- From my lord to my lady - From which lord to which lady?

From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, to a lady of France that he called Rosaline

Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, friends, away

Here, sweet, put up this, ’twill be thine another day

Who is the shooter? Who is the shooter?

- Shall I teach you, fair one? - Ay, my continent of beauty

Why, she that bears the gun. Finely put off

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

But she herself is hit lower, have I hit her now?

Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, thou canst not hit it, my good man

An I cannot, cannot, cannot, an I cannot, another can

By my troth, most pleasant. How both did fit it

I fear too much rubbing. Good day, my good owl

Very reverend sport, truly, and done in the testimony of a good conscience

The deer was, as you know, in sanguis, blood

Ripe as the fruit, which now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelum, the sky, the welkin, the heaven

And anon falleth like a crab-apple on the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth

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

- Sir Nathaniel, haud credo - ’Twas not an old grey doe, ’twas a pricket

Most barbarous intimation! 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 against my haud credo for a deer

I said the deer was not an old grey doe, ’twas a pricket

Twice-sod simplicity! Bis coctus

O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look

Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book

He hath not eaten 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

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. Many can brook the weather that love not the wind

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

Proceed, good Master Holofernes, proceed, so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility

The preyful Princess pierced and pricked a pretty pleasing...

Pricket?

Some say a sore, but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting

The dogs did yell, put ‘L’ to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket

A pricket, sore, or else sorel, the people fall a-hooting

- A rare talent - This is a gift that I have, simple, simple

A foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions

These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of the brain...

...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

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?

- Dictynna, goodman Dull. Dictynna - Who is Dictynna?

A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon

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

By Hercules, if their sons be ingenious, 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

God give you good morrow, Master Parson

Be so good as read me this letter. It was sent me from Don Armado. I beseech you, read it

- What, my soul, verses? - Ay, sir, and very learned

Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse. Lege, domine

‘If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed’

‘Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll faithful prove . Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed’

‘If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice. Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend’

‘Celestial as thou art, O, pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue’

You find not the apostraphus, and so miss the accent. Let me supervise the canzonet

Here are only numbers ratified. But, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, it is wanting

- Damosella virgin, was this directed to you? - Ay, sir

I will overglance the superscript. ‘To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline’

I will look again on the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto

‘Your ladyship’s in all desired employment, Berowne’

Sir Nathaniel, this Berowne is one of the votaries with the King

And here he hath framed a letter to Lady Rosaline, which accidentally hath miscarried

Trip and go, my sweet. Deliver this paper into the royal hand of the King. It may concern much

- Stay not thy compliment. Adieu - Sir, God save your life

- Good Costard, go with me - Have with thee, my girl

Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously

I thank you. But to return to the verses. Did they please you, Sir Nathaniel?

- Marvellous well for the pen - I do dine today at the father’s of a certain pupil of mine

Where, if before repast it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace...

...I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid child, undertake your ben venuto

Where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention

- I beseech your society - And thank you too

For society, saith the text, is the happiness of life

Sir, I do invite you too, you shall not say me nay. Pauca verba. Away

The gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation

The King he is hunting the deer, I am coursing myself

They have pitched atoil, I am toiling in pitch, pitch that defiles. ‘Defile’, a foul word

Well, sit thee down, sorrow, for so the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool

By the Lord, I will not love. If I do, hang me. In faith, I will not

O, but her eye! By this light, but for her eye, I would not love her. Yes, for her two eyes

Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat

By heaven, I do love, and it hath taught me to rhyme and to be melancholy

And here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy

Well, she hath one of my sonnets already. The fool sent it, the clown bore it, and the lady hath it

Sweet fool, sweeter clown, sweetest lady

By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in

Here comes one with a paper. God give him grace to groan

- Ay me! - Shot, by heaven. Proceed, sweet Cupid

Thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not To those fresh morning drops upon the rose...

...As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows

No drop but as a coach doth carry thee. So ridest thou triumphing in my woe

Do but behold the tears that swell in me, And they thy glory through my griefs will show

O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel, No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell

How shall she know my griefs?

I’ll drop the paper. Dark night, shade folly

Who comes here? What, Longaville?

- And reading. Listen, ear - Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear

Ay me, I am forsworn

- In love, I hope, sweet fellowship in shame - One drunkard loves another of the name

- Am I the first that have been perjured so? - I could put thee in comfort. Not by two that I know

I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, ’Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument...

...Persuade my heart to this false perjury?

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment

A woman I forswore, but I will prove, Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee

My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love. Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me

Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, Inhalest this vapour-vow, in thee it is

If broken then, it is no fault of mine

If by me broke, what fool is not so wise To lose an oath to win a paradise?

By whom shall I send this?

Company... stay

Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky, and wretched fools’ secrets heedfully over-eye

More sacks to the mill

O Heavens, I have my wish! Dumaine transformed. Four woodcocks in a dish

- O most divine Kate - O most profane coxcomb

By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye! As upright as the cedar, as fair as day

- O that I had my wish! - And I had mine

- And I had mine - And I had mine

I would forget her, but a fever she reigns in my blood and will remembered be

- Once more I’ll read the ode that I have writ - Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit

On a day - alack the day - Love, whose month is ever May...

...Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air

Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, can passage find

That the lover, sick to death, Wished himself the heaven’s breath

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow. Air, would I might triumph so

But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, Youth so apt to pluck a sweet

Do not call it sin in me, That I am forsworn for thee

Thou for whom e’en Jove would swear Juno but a harridan were

And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love

O, would the King, Berowne and Longaville were lovers too

Ill, to example ill, would from my forehead wipe a perjured note

For none offend where all alike do dote

Dumaine, you may look pale, but I should blush, I know, to be overheard and taken napping so

Come, sir, you blush

As his your case is such. You chide at him, offending twice as much

You do not love Maria? Longaville did never sonnet for her sake compile?

Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart his loving bosom to keep down his heart?

I have been closely shrouded all the while, and marked you both, and for you both did blush

I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion, saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion

‘Ay me!’ says one. ‘O Jove!’ the other cries. One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other’s eyes

You would for paradise break faith and troth, and Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath

What will Berowne say when that he shall hear faith infringed, which such zeal did swear?

How will he scorn, how will he spend his wit? How will he triumph, leap and laugh at it?

For all the wealth that ever I did see, I would not have him know so much of me

Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me

What grace hast thou, thus to reprove these worms for loving, that art most in love?

Your eyes do make no coaches? In your tears there is no certain princess that appears?

You’ll not be perjured, ’tis a hateful thing

But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not, all three of you, to be thus much overshot?

You found his mote, the King your mote did see. But I a beam do find in each of three

O, what a scene of foolery have I seen, of sighs, of groans, of sorrow and of teen

O me, with what strict patience have I sat, to see a king transformed to a gnat

Where lies thy grief? O, tell me, good Dumaine

And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?

And where my liege’s? All about the breast. Some medicine, ho!

Too bitter is thy jest. Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view?

Not you to me, but I betrayed by you. I that am honest...

I that hold it sin to break the vow I am engaged in

I am betrayed, by keeping company with men like you, men of inconstancy

When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?

Or groan for Joan? When shall you hear that I will praise...

...a hand, a foot, a face, an eye a brow, a breast, a waist, a leg, a limb?

Soft, whither away so fast?

- God bless the King - What present hast thou there?

- Some certain treason - What makes treason here?

I beseech your grace, let this letter be read. Our parson misdoubts it. ’Twas treason, he said

Berowne... Berowne?

Read it over. Where hadst thou it?

- Of Costard - Where hadst thou it?

How now, what’s in you? Why dost thou tear it?

- A toy, my liege, a toy. Your grace needs not fear it - It did move him to passion, and therefore let’s hear it

It is Berowne’s writing, and here’s his name

You whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame

Guilty, my lord, guilty. I confess, I confess

- What? - That you three fools lacked me fool to make up the mess

He, he and you - and you, my liege - and I, are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die

O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more

- Now the number is even - True, true, we are four

- Will these lovebirds be gone? - Hence, sir, away

Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay

Sweet lords, sweet lovers, o, let us embrace

As true we are as flesh and blood can be

The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face. Young blood doth not obey an old decree

We cannot cross the cause why we were born, therefore of all hands must we be forsworn

What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?

‘Did they?’ quoth you. Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, that, like a rude and savage man of Inde...

...at the first opening of the gorgeous east, bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind...

...kisses the base ground with obedient breast?

What peremptory eagle-sighted eye dares look upon the heaven of her brow that is not blinded by her majesty?

What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now?

My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon. She an attending star, scarce seen a light

My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. O, but for my love, day would turn to night

Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not. To things for sale a seller’s praise belongs

She passes praise, then praise too short doth blot

A withered hermit, five-score winters worn, might shake off fifty, looking in her eye

Your mistresses dare never come in rain, for fear their colours should be washed away

’Twere’ good yours did. For, sir, to tell you plain, I’ll find a fairer face not washed today

- I’ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here - I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear

Look, here’s thy love. My foot and her face see

- But what of this? Are we not all in love? - Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn

Then leave this chat, and, good Berowne, now prove our loving lawful, and our faith not torn

Ay, marry, there. Some flattery for this evil

O, some authority how to proceed. Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil

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 verses as the prompting eyes of beauty’s tutors have enriched you with?

Other slow arts entirely keep the brain, 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

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 ought 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 fulfills the law, and who can sever love from charity?

Saint Cupid, then! And, soldiers, to the field

- Advance your standard, and upon them, lords - Pell-mell, down with them

- Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? - And win them too

Therefore let us devise some entertainment for them in their lodge

We will with some strange pastime solace them, such as the shortness of the time can shape

For revels, dances, masks and merry hours forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers

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

Allons!

I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner were sharp and sententious

Pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, audacious without impudency...

...and learned without opinion

I did converse this quondam day with a companion of the King’s...

...who is intituled, nominated or called Don Adriano de Armado

Novi hominem tanquam te

His humour is lofty, his discourse peremptory...

His tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical...

...and his general behavior vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical

He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it

A most singular and choice epithet

He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument

I abhor such fanatical phantasimes, such unsociable companions, such rackers of orthography...

...as to speak ‘dout’ when he should say ‘doubt’, ‘det’ when he should pronounce ‘debt’ ― d,e,b,t, not d,e,t

He calleth a calf ‘carf’, half ‘harf’, naygebour ‘naybour’

This is abhominable. It insinuateth me of insanire

- Ne intelligis, domine? Insanire, to make frantic, lunatic - Laus Deo, bone intelligo

Bone? I smell false Latin. Bone for bene

- Videsne quis venit? - Video, et gaudeo

Men of peace!

Well encountered

- Good sir, salutation - Monsieur

Arts-man, preambulate. We will be singuled from the barbarous

They have been at a great feast of languages and stolen the scraps

O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word

For thou art not so long as honorificabilitudinitatibus

- Thou art easier swallowed than a crab apple - Peace, the peal begins

Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the top of the mountain?

- Or mons, the hill - At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain

I do, sans question

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

The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, congruent and measurable for the afternoon

The word is well culled, choice, sweet and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure

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

For I must tell thee, it will please His Majesty, 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 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

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, illustrious and learned gentleman...

...before the Princess, I say none so fit as to present ‘The Nine Worthies’

- By my troth - ’Twill be admirable

Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?

Yourself, Alexander, this gallant gentleman, Hector, the swain shall pass Pompey the Great, the boy, Hercules

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

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

An excellent device. So, if any of the audience hiss...

...you may cry ‘Well done, Hercules, now thou crushest the snake’

For the rest of the Worthies?

- I shall play three myself - Thrice-worthy gentleman

- Shall I tell you a thing? - We attend

We will be, if this fadge, true masters of art. I beseech you, follow

Via, goodman Dull. Thou hast spoken no word all this while

Nor understood none neither, sir

Allons! We will employ thee

I’ll make one in a dance, or so. Or I will play on the virginals to the Worthies

Most dull, honest Dull. To our sport, away

Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart if fairings come thus plentifully in

Look you what I have from the loving King. A lady walled about with diamonds

Madam, came nothing else along with that?

Nothing but this? Yes, as much love in rhyme...

...as would be crammed up in a sheet of paper, writ on both sides the leaf, margin and all

But Rosaline, you have a favour too. Who sent it? And what is it?

I would you knew. And 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

- Anything like? - Much in the letters, nothing in the praise

Beauteous as ink, a good conclusion. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumaine?

- Madam, this glove - Did he not send you twain?

Yes, madam, and, moreover, some thousand verses of a faithful lover

A huge translation of hypocrisy, vilely compiled, profound simplicity

This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville. The letter is too long by half a mile

I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart The chain were longer and the letter short?

- Ay, or I would these hands might never part - We are wise girls to mock our lovers so

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 the 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 fortune-like would I oversway his state that he should be my fool, and I his fate

Folly in fools bears not so strong a note as foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote

Since all the power thereof it doth apply to prove by wit, worth in simplicity

- Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face - O, I am stabbed with laughter. Where’s her grace?

- Thy news 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

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

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’

- But what, but what, come they to visit us? - 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-suit will advance...

...unto his several mistress, which they’ll know, by favours several which they did bestow

And will they so? The gallants shall be tasked. For, ladies, we shall 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 your favours too. So shall your loves woo contrary, deceived by these removes

Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight

- But in this changing what is your intent? - The effect of my intent is to cross theirs

They do it but in mocking merriment, and mock for mock is only my intent

- But shall we dance, if they desire us to it? - No, to the death, we will not move a foot

There’s no such sport as sport by sport overthrown, to make theirs ours, and ours none but our own

Be masked, the masquers come

All hail, the richest beauties on the earth! A holy parcel of the fairest dames

All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!

A holy parcel of the fairest dames that ever turned their eyes to mortal views

Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe once to behold us with your sun-beamed eyes

All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!

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

, ?

- What would you with the Princess? - Nothing but peace and gentle visitation

- What would they, say they? - Nothing but peace and gentle visitation

Why, that they have, and bid them so be gone

She says, you have it, and you may be gone

Say to her, we have measured many miles to tread a measure with her on this grass

They say that they have measured many miles to tread a measure with you on this grass

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

If to come hither you have measured miles, and many miles...

...the Princess bids you tell how many inches doth fill up one mile

- Tell her we measure them by weary steps - She hears herself

How many weary steps, of many weary miles you have overgone...

- ...are numbered in the travel of one mile? - We number nothing that we spend for you

Please you show the sunshine of your face, that we, like savages, may worship it

- My face is but a moon, and clouded too - Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do

The music plays. Vouchsafe some motion to it

- Our ears vouchsafe it - But your legs should do it

Since you are strangers and come here by chance, we’ll not be nice. Take hands. We will not dance

- Why take we hands, then? - Only to part friends

Curtsy, sweet hearts. And so the measure ends

If you deny to dance, let’s hold more chat

- In private, then - I am best pleased with that

- White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee - Honey, milk and sugar, there is three

- One word in secret - Let it not be sweet

- Thou grievest my gall - Gall? Bitter

- Therefore meet - Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?

- Name it - Fair lady...

Say you so? Fair lord. Take that for your ‘fair lady’

Please it you, as much in private, and I’ll bid adieu

What, was your visor made without a tongue?

- I know the reason, lady, why you ask - O for your reason. Quickly, sir, I long

- Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so - Then die a calf before your horns do grow

- One word in private with you ere I die - Bleat softly then. The butcher hears you cry

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

- Not one word more, my maids. Break off, break off - By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff

Farewell, mad wenches. You have simple wits

Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits

- Are these the breed of wits so wondered at? - Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puffed out

- But will you hear? The King is my love sworn - And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me

- And Longaville was for my service born - Dumaine is mine as sure as bark on tree

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

- Will they return? - They will, they will, God knows

And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows

Therefore change favours, and, when they repair, bloom like sweet roses in this summer air

Come, come, dear friends, be quick. What shall we do if they return in their own shapes to woo?

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 lodge to us

- Ladies, withdraw. The gallants are at hand - Whip to our lodge, as roes run over the land

Fair sir, God save you. Where goes the Princess?

Gone to her room. Please it your majesty command me any service to her thither?

- That she vouchsafe me audience for one word - I will. And so will she, I know, my lord

This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons peas, and utters it again when God doth please

He is wit’s pedlar, the ladies call him sweet. The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet

And consciences, that will not die in debt, pay him the due of ‘honey-tongued Boyet’

All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day

We came to visit you, and purpose now to lead you to our court. Vouchsafe it then

This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow. Nor God nor I delights in perjured men

Rebuke me not for that which you provoke. The virtue of your eye must break my oath

You misname 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

O, you have lived in desolation here, unseen, unvisited, much to our shame

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 - How, madam? Russians?

Ay, in truth, my lord. Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state

Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord

We four indeed confronted were with four in Russian habit

Here they stayed an hour and talked apace

But 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

Fair gentle sweet, your capacity is of that nature...

...that to your huge store wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor

- This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye... - I am a fool, and full of poverty

But that you take what doth to you belong, it were a fault to snatch words from my tongue

O, I am yours, and all that I possess

- All the fool mine? - I cannot give you less

- Which of the visors was it that you wore? - Where, when, what visor? Why demand you this?

There, then, that visor. That superfluous case that hid the worse and showed the better face

- We are descried. They’ll mock us now downright - Let us confess, and turn it to a jest

Amazed, my lord? Why looks your highness sad?

Help, hold his brows. He’ll swoon. Why look you pale?

Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy

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 schoolboy’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

- Sans ‘sans’, I pray you - Yet I have a trick of the old rage

Bear with me, I am sick. I’ll leave it by degrees. They are infected, in their hearts it lies

They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us

It is not so, for how can this be true, that you stand forfeit, being those that sue?

- Peace, for I will not have to do with you - Nor shall not, if I do as I intend

Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end

Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression...

- ...some fair excuse - The fairest is confession

- Were not you here but even now disguised? - Madam, I was

- And were you well advised? - I was, fair madam

When you then were here, what did you whisper in your lady’s ear?

- That more than all the world I did respect her - When she shall challenge this, you will reject her

- Upon mine honour, no - Peace, peace, forbear

- Your oath once broke, again you may forswear - Despise me, when I break this oath of mine

I will, and therefore keep it. Rosaline, what did the Russian whisper in your ear?

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

God give thee joy of him. The noble lord most honourably doth uphold his word

What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth, I never swore this lady such an oath

By heaven, you did. And to confirm it plain, you gave me this. But take it, sir, again

My faith and this the Princess I did give. I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve

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? - 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, 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

You leer upon me, do you? There’s an eye wounds like a leaden sword

- Full merrily hath this brave manege, this career, been run - Lo, he is tilting straight. Peace, I have done

- God save your honours - Welcome, pure wit. Thou partest a fair fray

O Lord, sir, they would know whether the Nine Worthies shall come in or no

- Art thou one of the Worthies? - It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great

- Go, bid them prepare - We will turn it finely off, sir, we will take some care

- Berowne, they will shame us. Let them not approach - We are shame-proof, my lord

And ’tis some policy to have one show worse than the King’s and his company

- I say they shall not come - Nay, my good lord, let me overrule you now

That sport best pleases that doth least know how

Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words

Doth this man serve God?

- Why ask you? - He speaks not like a man of God’s making

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

Most royal couplement, I wish you the peace of mind

Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. The ship is under sail

I Pompey am, I Pompey am, 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

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

Mars, the great god of war, bestows unto Hector a precious gift

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

Would fight from morn till night, yea, out of his pavilion

I am that flower, I am that mint

I am that flower, I am that columbine

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 something something something...

The conqueror is dismayed

When in the world I lived I was the something something...

- Pompey the Great - Your servant, and Costard

Take away the conqueror, take away Alexander

For shame, Alexander. An honest man, look you, but soon dashed

He is a marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler

But, for Alexander, alas, you see how ’tis. A little overparted

But there are other Worthies coming

O, sir, a conqueror, and afeared to speak? Proceed, good Alexander

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 Alexander

But all attentive to alarms the willing nations fly to arms

And, conquering or conquered, claim the prize

Of happy earth, or far more happy skies

With honour let us be crowned and let the trumpet sound

All hail, Alexander!

Sweet chucks, there are other Worthies coming, though this party is gone

Hector, she is gone. She is two months on her way

What meanest thou?

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

Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die

Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is quick by him

And hanged for Pompey that is dead by him

By the north pole, I do challenge thee

I’ll slash, I’ll do it by the sword. Let me borrow arms

God save you, madam

Welcome, Marcadé, but that thou interruptest our merriment

I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring is heavy in my tongue

The King your father...

- Dead, for my life - Even so. My tale is told

Worthies, away. The scene begins to cloud

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

How fares your majesty?

Boyet, prepare. I will away tonight

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

’Tis meet the mourning bow of progeny forbid the smiling courtesy of love

Yet, since love’s argument was first on foot, let not the cloud of sorrow jostle it from what is purposed

Since to wail friends lost is not by much so wholesome-profitable as to rejoice at friends but newly won

I understand you not. My griefs are doubled

Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief

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

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

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

But more devout than this in our respects have we not been

And therefore met your loves in their own fashion, like a merriment

Our letters, madam, showed much more than jest

- So did our looks - We did not view them so

Now, at the latest minute of the hour, grant us your loves

A time, methinks, too short to make a world-without-end bargain in

No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much, full of dear guiltiness. And therefore this

If for my love, as there is no such cause, you will do aught, this shall you do for me

Your oath I will not trust, but go with speed to some forlorn and naked hermitage...

...remote from all the pleasures of the world

There stay until the twelve celestial signs have brought about the annual reckoning

If this austere insociable life change not your offer made in heat of blood...

If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love...

But that it bear this trial, and last love...

Then, at the expiration of the year, come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts

And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, I will be thine

And, till that instance, shut my woeful self up in a mourning house...

...raining the tears of lamentation for the remembrance of my father’s death

If this thou do deny, let our hands part, neither entitled in the other’s heart

If this, or more than this, I would deny, to flatter up these powers of mine with rest...

...the sudden hand of death close up mine eye

Hence hermit, then. My heart is in thy breast

But what to me, my love? But what to me? A wife?

A beard, fair health, and honesty. With threefold love I wish you all these three

- O, shall I say ‘I thank you, gentle wife’? - Not so, my lord

A twelvemonth and a day I’ll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say

Come when the King doth to my lady come. Then, if I have much love, I’ll give you some

- I’ll serve thee true and faithfully till then - Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again

What says Maria?

At the twelvemonth’s end I’ll change my black gown for a faithful friend

- I’ll stay with patience, but the time is long - The liker you. Few taller are so young

Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me

Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, what humble suit attends thy answer there

Impose some service on me for thy love

Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne, before I saw you

And the world’s large tongue proclaims you...

...for a man replete with mocks, full of comparisons and wounding flouts

Which you on all estates will execute that lie within the mercy of your wit

To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain...

...and therewithal to win me, if you please, without the which I am not to be won...

You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day visit the speechless sick...

...and still converse with groaning wretches. And your task shall be...

...with all the fierce endeavor of your wit to enforce the pained impotent to smile

To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be. It is impossible

Mirth cannot move a soul in agony

Why, that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit...

...whose influence is begot of that loose grace which shallow laughing hearers give to fools

A jest’s prosperity lies in the ear of him that hears it, never in the tongue of him that makes it

Then, if sickly ears, deafed with the clamours of their own dear groans, will hear your idle scorns...

...continue then, and I will have you and that fault withal

But if they will not, throw away that spirit

And I shall find you empty of that fault, right joyful of your reformation

A twelvemonth? Well, befall what will befall

I’ll jest a twelvemonth in a hospital

Our wooing doth not end like an old play. Jack hath not Jill

These ladies’ courtesy might well have made our sport a comedy

Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, and then ’twill end

That’s too long for a play

Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me...

- Were not you Hector? - The worthy knight of Troy

I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary

I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years

But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the song that the two learned gentlemen have compiled?

- It should have followed in the end of our show - Call them forth quickly, we will do so

Holla, approach

When daisies pied and violets blue and lady-smocks all silver-white...

And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue do paint the meadows with delight...

When icicles hang by the wall, and Dick the shepherd blows his nail...

And Tom bears logs into the hall, and milk comes frozen home in pail...

When blood is nipped and ways be foul then nightly sings the staring owl

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?

Though to myself forsworn to thee I’ll faithful prove

Call forth thy powers, my soul, and to thee I’ll faithful prove

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, and merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks...

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, and maidens bleach their summer smocks...

When all aloud the wind doth blow, and coughing drowns the parson’s saw...

And birds sit brooding in the snow, and Marian’s nose looks red and raw...

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl then nightly sings the staring owl

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?

Though to myself forsworn to thee I’ll faithful prove

Call forth thy powers, my soul, and to thee I’ll faithful prove

The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo

You that way, we this way