Love's Labour's Lost
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 that nourishment which is called supper. So
much for the time when. Now for the ground which? Which, I mean, I
walked upon. It is ycleped thy park. Then for the place, where? Where,
I mean, I did encounter that obscene and most preposterous event that
draweth from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which here thou
viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest. But to the place where? It
standeth north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy
curious-knotted garden. There did I see that low-spirited swain, that
base minnow of thy mirth—_
COSTARD.
Me?
KING.
[_Reads_.] _That unlettered small-knowing soul—_
COSTARD.
Me?
KING.
[_Reads_.] _That shallow vassal—_
COSTARD.
Still me?
KING.
[_Reads_.] _Which, as I remember, hight Costard—_
COSTARD.
O me!
KING.
[_Reads_.] _Sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established
proclaimed edict and continent canon, which with, O, with—but with this
I passion to say wherewith—_
COSTARD.
With a wench.
KING.
[_Reads_.] _With a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy
more sweet understanding, a woman. Him, I, as my ever-esteemed duty
pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, by
thy sweet Grace’s officer, Antony Dull, a man of good repute, carriage,
bearing, and estimation._
DULL.
Me, an’t shall please you; I am Antony Dull.
KING.
[_Reads_.] _For Jaquenetta, so is the weaker vessel called which I
apprehended with the aforesaid swain, I keep her as a vessel of thy
law’s fury, and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to
trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heartburning heat of
duty,
Don Adriano de Armado._
BEROWNE.
This is not so well as I looked for, but the best that ever I heard.
KING.
Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to this?
COSTARD.
Sir, I confess the wench.
KING.
Did you hear the proclamation?
COSTARD.
I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it.
KING.
It was proclaimed a year’s imprisonment to be taken with a wench.
COSTARD.
I was taken with none, sir. I was taken with a damsel.
KING.
Well, it was proclaimed “damsel”.
COSTARD.
This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a virgin.
KING.
It is so varied too, for it was proclaimed “virgin”.
COSTARD.
If it were, I deny her virginity. I was taken with a maid.
KING.
This maid will not serve your turn, sir.
COSTARD.
This maid will serve my turn, sir.
KING.
Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast a week with bran
and water.
COSTARD.
I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.
KING.
And Don Armado shall be your keeper.
My Lord Berowne, see him delivered o’er;
And go we, lords, to put in practice that
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.
[_Exeunt King, Longaville and Dumaine._]
BEROWNE.
I’ll lay my head to any good man’s hat
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.
Sirrah, come on.
COSTARD.
I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is I was taken with
Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl. And therefore welcome the
sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile again, and till
then, sit thee down, sorrow.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. The park
Enter Armado and Moth, his Page.
ARMADO.
Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows melancholy?
MOTH.
A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.
ARMADO.
Why, sadness is one and the selfsame thing, dear imp.
MOTH.
No, no, O Lord, sir, no.
ARMADO.
How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender juvenal?
MOTH.
By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough signior.
ARMADO.
Why tough signior? Why tough signior?
MOTH.
Why tender juvenal? Why tender juvenal?
ARMADO.
I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton appertaining to
thy young days, which we may nominate tender.
MOTH.
And I, tough signior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which
we may name tough.
ARMADO.
Pretty and apt.
MOTH.
How mean you, sir? I pretty and my saying apt, or I apt, and my saying
pretty?
ARMADO.
Thou pretty, because little.
MOTH.
Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?
ARMADO.
And therefore apt, because quick.
MOTH.
Speak you this in my praise, master?
ARMADO.
In thy condign praise.
MOTH.
I will praise an eel with the same praise.
ARMADO.
What, that an eel is ingenious?
MOTH.
That an eel is quick.
ARMADO.
I do say thou art quick in answers. Thou heat’st my blood.
MOTH.
I am answered, sir.
ARMADO.
I love not to be crossed.
MOTH.
[_Aside_.] He speaks the mere contrary; crosses love not him.
ARMADO.
I have promised to study three years with the Duke.
MOTH.
You may do it in an hour, sir.
ARMADO.
Impossible.
MOTH.
How many is one thrice told?
ARMADO.
I am ill at reckoning. It fitteth the spirit of a tapster.
MOTH.
You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.
ARMADO.
I confess both. They are both the varnish of a complete man.
MOTH.
Then I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.
ARMADO.
It doth amount to one more than two.
MOTH.
Which the base vulgar do call three.
ARMADO.
True.
MOTH.
Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here’s three studied ere
ye’ll thrice wink. And how easy it is to put “years” to the word
“three”, and study three years in two words, the dancing horse will
tell you.
ARMADO.
A most fine figure!
MOTH.
[_Aside_.] To prove you a cipher.
ARMADO.
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. If drawing my sword against
the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of
it, I would take desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier
for a new-devised curtsy. I think scorn to sigh; methinks I should
outswear Cupid. Comfort me, boy. What great men have been in love?
MOTH.
Hercules, master.
ARMADO.
Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my
child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.
MOTH.
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.
ARMADO.
O well-knit Samson, strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee in my rapier
as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was
Samson’s love, my dear Moth?
MOTH.
A woman, master.
ARMADO.
Of what complexion?
MOTH.
Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.
ARMADO.
Tell me precisely of what complexion.
MOTH.
Of the sea-water green, sir.
ARMADO.
Is that one of the four complexions?
MOTH.
As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.
ARMADO.
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.
MOTH.
It was so, sir, for she had a green wit.
ARMADO.
My love is most immaculate white and red.
MOTH.
Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours.
ARMADO.
Define, define, well-educated infant.
MOTH.
My father’s wit and my mother’s tongue assist me!
ARMADO.
Sweet invocation of a child, most pretty, and pathetical!
MOTH.
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.
ARMADO.
Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?
MOTH.
The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since, but I
think now ’tis not to be found; or if it were, it would neither serve
for the writing nor the tune.
ARMADO.
I will have that subject newly writ o’er, that I may example my
digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl
that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard. She deserves
well.
MOTH.
[_Aside_.] To be whipped: and yet a better love than my master.
ARMADO.
Sing, boy. My spirit grows heavy in love.
MOTH.
And that’s great marvel, loving a light wench.
ARMADO.
I say, sing.
MOTH.
Forbear till this company be past.
Enter Costard the Clown, Dull the Constable and Jaquenetta a Wench.
DULL.
Sir, the Duke’s pleasure is that you keep Costard safe; and you must
suffer him to take no delight, nor no penance, but he must fast three
days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at the park. She is
allowed for the dey-woman. Fare you well.
ARMADO.
I do betray myself with blushing.—Maid.
JAQUENETTA.
Man.
ARMADO.
I will visit thee at the lodge.
JAQUENETTA.
That’s hereby.
ARMADO.
I know where it is situate.
JAQUENETTA.
Lord, how wise you are!
ARMADO.
I will tell thee wonders.
JAQUENETTA.
With that face?
ARMADO.
I love thee.
JAQUENETTA.
So I heard you say.
ARMADO.
And so, farewell.
JAQUENETTA.
Fair weather after you!
DULL.
Come, Jaquenetta, away.
[_Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta._]
ARMADO.
Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be pardoned.
COSTARD.
Well, sir, I hope when I do it I shall do it on a full stomach.
ARMADO.
Thou shalt be heavily punished.
COSTARD.
I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but lightly
rewarded.
ARMADO.
Take away this villain. Shut him up.
MOTH.
Come, you transgressing slave, away!
COSTARD.
Let me not be pent up, sir. I will fast being loose.
MOTH.
No, sir, that were fast and loose. Thou shalt to prison.
COSTARD.
Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen,
some shall see.
MOTH.
What shall some see?
COSTARD.
Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for
prisoners to be too silent in their words, and therefore I will say
nothing. I thank God I have as little patience as another man, and
therefore I can be quiet.
[_Exeunt Moth and Costard._]
ARMADO.
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 familiar;
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 butt-shaft is too hard for
Hercules’ club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard’s rapier.
The first and second cause will not serve my turn; the _passado_ he
respects not, the _duello_ he regards not. 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.
[_Exit._]
ACT II
SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park. A pavilion and tents at a distance
Enter the Princess of France, with three attending Ladies: Rosaline,
Maria, Katharine and three Lords: Boyet, and two others.
BOYET.
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