Array The griffin classics - William Shakespeare - Complete Collection

Ber.

For the ass to the Jude; give it him. Jud-as, away!

Hol.

This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

Boyet.

A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble.

[Holofernes retires.]

Prin.

Alas, poor Machabeus, how hath he been baited!

Enter Braggart [Armado for Hector].

Ber. Hide thy head, Achilles, here comes Hector in arms.

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

King. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.

Boyet. But is this Hector?

King. I think Hector was not so clean-timber’d.

Long. His leg is too big for Hector’s.

Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet. No, he is best indu’d in the small.

Ber. This cannot be Hector.

Dum. He’s a god or a painter, for he makes faces.

Arm.

“The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,

Gave Hector a gift”—

Dum.

A [gilt] nutmeg.

Ber.

A lemon.

Long.

Stuck with cloves.

Dum.

No, cloven.

Arm.

Peace!—

“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,

From morn till night, out of his pavilion.

I am that flower”—

Dum.

That mint.

Long.

That columbine.

Arm. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.

Long. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.

Dum. Ay, and Hector’s a greyhound.

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten, sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried. When he breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with my device. [To the Princess.] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.

Berowne steps forth [to whisper to Costard and then returns to his place].

Prin. Speak, brave Hector, we are much delighted.

Arm. I do adore thy sweet Grace’s slipper.

Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm.

“This Hector far surmounted Hannibal.

The party is gone”—

Cost. Fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way.

Arm. What meanest thou?

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench is cast away. She’s quick, the child brags in her belly already. ’Tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta that is quick by him, and hang’d for Pompey that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Ber. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the Huge!

Dum. Hector trembles.

Ber. Pompey is mov’d. More Ates, more Ates! stir them [on], stir them on!

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Ber. Ay, if ’a have no more man’s blood in his belly than will sup a flea.

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee.

Cost. I will not fight with a pole like a Northren man; I’ll slash, I’ll do it by the sword. I bepray you let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incens’d Worthies!

Cost. I’ll do it in my shirt.

Dum. Most resolute Pompey!

Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose your reputation.

Arm. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me, I will not combat in my shirt.

Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.

Ber. What reason have you for’t?

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin’d him in Rome for want of linen; since when, I’ll be sworn he wore none but a dishclout of Jaquenetta’s, and that ’a wears next his heart for a favor.

Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcade.

Marc.

God save you, madam!

Prin.

Welcome, Marcade,

But that thou interruptest our merriment.

Marc.

I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring

Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father—

Prin.

Dead, for my life!

Marc.

Even so: my tale is told.

Ber.

Worthies, away! the scene begins to cloud.

Arm. 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.

Exeunt Worthies.

King.

How fares your Majesty?

Prin.

Boyet, prepare, I will away to-night.

King.

Madam, not so, I do beseech you stay.

Prin.

Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,

For all your fair endeavors, 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 overboldly we have borne ourselves

In the converse of breath—your gentleness

Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord!

A heavy heart bears not a humble tongue.

Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks

For my great suit so easily obtain’d.

King.

The extreme parts of time extremely forms

All causes to the purpose of his speed,

And often, at his very loose, decides

That which long process could not arbitrate.

And though the mourning brow of progeny

Forbid the smiling courtesy of love

The holy suit which fain it would convince,

Yet since love’s argument was first on foot,

Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it

From what it purpos’d; since to wail friends lost

Is not by much so wholesome-profitable

As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin.

I understand you not, my griefs are double.

Ber.

Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief,

And by these badges understand the King.

For your fair sakes have we neglected time,

Play’d foul play with our oaths. Your beauty, ladies,

Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humors

Even to the opposed end of our intents;

And what in us hath seem’d ridiculous—

As love is full of unbefitting strains,

All wanton as a child, skipping and vain,

Form’d by the eye and therefore like the eye,

Full of straying shapes, of habits, and of forms,

Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll

To every varied object in his glance;

Which parti-coated presence of loose love

Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,

Have misbecom’d our oaths and gravities,

Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,

Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,

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;

And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,

Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.

Prin.

We have receiv’d your letters full of love;

Your favors, embassadors of love;

And in our maiden council rated them

At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,

As bombast and as lining to the time;

But more devout than this [in] our respects