William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare The Complete Works (37 plays, 160 sonnets and 5 Poetry Books With Active Table of Contents)

A yielding ’gainst some reason in my breast,

And go well satisfied to France again.

Prin.

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.

King.

I do protest I never heard of it;

And, if you prove it, I’ll repay it back,

Or yield up Aquitaine.

Prin.

We arrest your word.

Boyet, you can produce acquittances

For such a sum from special officers

Of Charles his father.

King.

Satisfy me so.

Boyet.

So please your Grace, the packet is not come

Where that and other specialties are bound:

To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

King.

It shall suffice me; at which interview

All liberal reason I will yield unto.

Mean time receive such welcome at my hand

As honor (without breach of honor) may

Make tender of to thy true worthiness.

You may not come, fair Princess, within my gates,

But here without you shall be so receiv’d

As you shall deem yourself lodg’d in my heart,

Though so denied fair harbor in my house.

Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell.

To-morrow shall we visit you again.

Prin.

Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace!

King.

Thy own wish wish I thee in every place.

Exit [with Longaville, Dumaine, and Attendants].

Ber.

Lady, I will commend you to [mine own] heart.

Ros.

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

Ber.

I would you heard it groan.

Ros.

Is the fool sick?

Ber.

Sick at the heart.

Ros.

Alack, let it blood.

Ber.

Would that do it good?

Ros.

My physic says ay.

Ber.

Will you prick’t with your eye?

Ros.

No point, with my knife.

Ber.

Now God save thy life!

Ros.

And yours from long living!

Ber.

I cannot stay thanksgiving.

Exit.

Enter Dumaine.

Dum.

Sir, I pray you a word. What lady is that same?

Boyet.

The heir of Alanson, [Katherine] her name.

Dum.

A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.

Exit.

[Enter Longaville.]

Long.

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

Boyet.

A woman sometimes, and you saw her in the light.

Long.

Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.

Boyet.

She hath but one for herself, to desire that were a shame.

Long.

Pray you, sir, whose daughter?

Boyet.

Her mother’s, I have heard.

Long.

God’s blessing on your beard!

Boyet.

Good sir, be not offended,

She is an heir of Falconbridge.

Long.

Nay, my choler is ended.

She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet.

Not unlike, sir, that may be.

Exit Longaville.

Enter Berowne.

Ber.

What’s her name in the cap?

Boyet.

[Rosaline,] by good hap.

Ber.

Is she wedded or no?

Boyet.

To her will, sir, or so.

Ber.

O, you are welcome, sir, adieu.

Boyet.

Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.

Exit Berowne.

Mar.

That last is Berowne, the merry madcap lord.

Not a word with him but a jest.

Boyet.

And every jest but a word.

Prin.

It was well done of you to take him at his word.

Boyet.

I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.

Kath.

Two hot sheeps, marry.

Boyet.

And wherefore not ships?

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.

[Kath.]

You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish the jest?

Boyet.

So you grant pasture for me.

[Offering to kiss her.]

[Kath.]

Not so, gentle beast.

My lips are no common, though several they be.

Boyet.

Belonging to whom?

[Kath.]

To my fortunes and me.

Prin.

Good wits will be jangling, but, gentles, agree:

This civil war of wits were much better used

On Navarre and his book-men, for here ’tis abused.

Boyet.

If my observation (which very seldom lies),

By the heart’s still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,

Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin.

With what?

Boyet.

With that which we lovers entitle ‘affected.’

Prin.

Your reason?

Boyet.

Why, all his behaviors did make their retire

To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:

His heart like an agot 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:

Methought all his senses were lock’d in his eye,

As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy,

Who tend’ring their own worth from where they were glass’d,

Did point you to buy them, along as you pass’d;

His face’s own margent did cote such amazes

That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.

I’ll give you Aquitaine and all that is his,

And you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.

Prin.

Come to our pavilion—Boyet is dispos’d.

Boyet.

But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos’d.

I only have made a mouth of his eye,

By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.

[Mar.]

Thou art an old love-monger and speakest skillfully.

[Kath.]

He is Cupid’s grandfather, and learns news of him.

[Ros.]

Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.

Boyet.

Do you hear, my mad wenches?

[Mar.]

No.

Boyet.

What then, do you see?

[Mar.]

Ay, our way to be gone.

Boyet.

You are too hard for me.

Exeunt omnes.

¶

Enter Braggart [Armado] and his Boy [Moth].

Arm. Warble, child, make passionate my sense of hearing.

Moth [Sings the song.] “Concolinel.”

Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither. I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

Arm. How meanest thou? Brawling in French?

Moth. No, my complete master, but to jig off a tune at the tongue’s end, canary to it with your feet, humor it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the throat, [as] if you swallow’d love with singing love, sometime through [the] nose, as if you snuff’d up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like o’er the shop of your eyes; with your arms cross’d on your thin[-bellied] doublet like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away: these are complements, these are humors, these betray nice wenches that would be betray’d without these; and make them men of note—do you note?—men that most are affected to these.