William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

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:—[Giving a letter.] Bear this significant to the country maid Jaquenetta. [Giving money.] 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.

O! My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met.

COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation riband 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.

O, this afternoon.

COSTARD.

Well, I will do it, sir! fare you well.

BEROWNE.

O, thou knowest not what it is.

COSTARD.

I shall know, sir, when I have done it.

BEROWNE.

Why, villain, thou must know first.

COSTARD.

I will come to your worship tomorrow morning.

BEROWNE.

It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this:

The princess comes to hunt here in the park,

And in her train there is a gentle lady;

When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,

And Rosaline they call her: ask for her

And to her white hand see thou do commend

This seal’d-up counsel.

[Gives him a shilling.]

There’s thy guerdon: go.

COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration; a ‘levenpence 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-rimes, 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 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 wightly 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.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park.

[Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS,

ATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER.]

PRINCESS.

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.

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.

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.

What, what? First praise me, and again say no?

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

FORESTER.

Yes, madam, fair.

PRINCESS.

Nay, never paint me now;

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.

Here, good my glass [Gives money]:—take this for telling true:

Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

FORESTER.

Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

PRINCESS.