No More Learning

These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice
wenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men
of note- do you note me? - that most are affected to these.
ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience?
MOTH. By my penny of observation.
ARMADO. But O- but O-
MOTH. The hobby-horse is forgot.
ARMADO. Call'st thou my love 'hobby-horse'?
MOTH. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love
perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love?
ARMADO. Almost I had.
MOTH. Negligent student! learn her by heart.
ARMADO. By heart and in heart, boy.
MOTH. And out of heart, master; all those three I will prove.
ARMADO. What wilt thou prove?
MOTH. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the
instant. By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by
her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with
her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you
cannot enjoy her.
ARMADO. I am all these three.
MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.
ARMADO. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.
MOTH. A message well sympathiz'd- a horse to be ambassador for an
ass.
ARMADO. Ha, ha, what sayest thou?
MOTH. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is
very slow-gaited. But I go.
ARMADO. The way is but short; away.
MOTH. As swift as lead, sir.
ARMADO. The meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?
MOTH. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.
ARMADO. I say lead is slow.
MOTH. You are too swift, sir, to say so:
Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?
ARMADO. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he;
I shoot thee at the swain.
MOTH. Thump, then, and I flee. Exit
ARMADO. A most acute juvenal; volable 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 return'd.

Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD

MOTH. A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin.
ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l'envoy; begin.
COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir.
O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy; no
salve, sir, but a plantain!
ARMADO. By virtue thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my
spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous
smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take
salve for l'envoy, and the word 'l'envoy' for a salve?
MOTH. Do the wise think them other? Is not l'envoy a salve?
ARMADO. No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it:
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral. Now the l'envoy.
MOTH. I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again.
ARMADO. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
MOTH. Until the goose came out of door,
And 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 to-morrow 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 teach you to know?
BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty.
ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow.
Finely put off!
BOYET. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on!
ROSALINE. Well then, I am the shooter.
BOYET. And who is your deer?
ROSALINE. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
Finely put on indeed!
MARIA. You Still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the
brow.
BOYET. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now?
ROSALINE. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man
when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit
it?
BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when
Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit
it.
ROSALINE. [Singing]
Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
BOYET. An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
An I cannot, another can.
Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE
COSTARD. By my troth, most pleasant! How both did fit it!
MARIA. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.
BOYET. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!
Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.
MARIA. Wide o' the bow-hand! I' faith, your hand is out.
COSTARD. Indeed, 'a must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the
clout.
BOYET. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
COSTARD.