Love's Labour's Lost
They will not answer to that epithet.
You were best call it “daughter-beamed eyes”.
MOTH.
They do not mark me, and that brings me out.
BEROWNE.
Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue!
[_Exit Moth._]
ROSALINE.
What would these strangers? Know their minds, Boyet.
If they do speak our language, ’tis our will
That some plain man recount their purposes.
Know what they would.
BOYET.
What would you with the Princess?
BEROWNE.
Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
ROSALINE.
What would they, say they?
BOYET.
Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
ROSALINE.
Why, that they have, and bid them so be gone.
BOYET.
She says you have it, and you may be gone.
KING.
Say to her we have measured many miles
To tread a measure with her on this grass.
BOYET.
They say that they have measured many a mile
To tread a measure with you on this grass.
ROSALINE.
It is not so. Ask them how many inches
Is in one mile? If they have measured many,
The measure then of one is easily told.
BOYET.
If to come hither you have measured miles,
And many miles, the Princess bids you tell
How many inches doth fill up one mile.
BEROWNE.
Tell her we measure them by weary steps.
BOYET.
She hears herself.
ROSALINE.
How many weary steps
Of many weary miles you have o’ergone
Are numbered in the travel of one mile?
BEROWNE.
We number nothing that we spend for you.
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without account.
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
That we, like savages, may worship it.
ROSALINE.
My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
KING.
Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do!
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,
Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.
ROSALINE.
O vain petitioner! Beg a greater matter!
Thou now requests but moonshine in the water.
KING.
Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change.
Thou bidd’st me beg; this begging is not strange.
ROSALINE.
Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon.
[_Music plays._]
Not yet? No dance! Thus change I like the moon.
KING.
Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?
ROSALINE.
You took the moon at full, but now she’s changed.
KING.
Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
The music plays, vouchsafe some motion to it.
ROSALINE.
Our ears vouchsafe it.
KING.
But your legs should do it.
ROSALINE.
Since you are strangers and come here by chance,
We’ll not be nice. Take hands. We will not dance.
KING.
Why take we hands then?
ROSALINE.
Only to part friends.
Curtsy, sweet hearts, and so the measure ends.
KING.
More measure of this measure! Be not nice.
ROSALINE.
We can afford no more at such a price.
KING.
Price you yourselves? What buys your company?
ROSALINE.
Your absence only.
KING.
That can never be.
ROSALINE.
Then cannot we be bought. And so adieu—
Twice to your visor, and half once to you!
KING.
If you deny to dance, let’s hold more chat.
ROSALINE.
In private then.
KING.
I am best pleased with that.
[_They converse apart._]
BEROWNE.
White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.
PRINCESS.
Honey, and milk, and sugar: there is three.
BEROWNE.
Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice,
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey. Well run, dice!
There’s half a dozen sweets.
PRINCESS.
Seventh sweet, adieu.
Since you can cog, I’ll play no more with you.
BEROWNE.
One word in secret.
PRINCESS.
Let it not be sweet.
BEROWNE.
Thou griev’st my gall.
PRINCESS.
Gall! Bitter.
BEROWNE.
Therefore meet.
[_They converse apart._]
DUMAINE.
Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?
MARIA.
Name it.
DUMAINE.
Fair lady—
MARIA.
Say you so? Fair lord!
Take that for your “fair lady”.
DUMAINE.
Please it you,
As much in private, and I’ll bid adieu.
[_They converse apart._]
KATHARINE.
What, was your visor made without a tongue?
LONGAVILLE.
I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
KATHARINE.
O, for your reason! Quickly, sir, I long.
LONGAVILLE.
You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless visor half.
KATHARINE.
“Veal”, quoth the Dutchman. Is not veal a calf?
LONGAVILLE.
A calf, fair lady?
KATHARINE.
No, a fair lord calf.
LONGAVILLE.
Let’s part the word.
KATHARINE.
No, I’ll not be your half.
Take all and wean it; it may prove an ox.
LONGAVILLE.
Look how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks.
Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so.
KATHARINE.
Then die a calf before your horns do grow.
LONGAVILLE.
One word in private with you ere I die.
KATHARINE.
Bleat softly, then; the butcher hears you cry.
[_They converse apart._]
BOYET.
The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor’s edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen;
Above the sense of sense, so sensible
Seemeth their conference. Their conceits have wings
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.
ROSALINE.
Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.
BEROWNE.
By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!
KING.
Farewell, mad wenches. You have simple wits.
[_Exeunt King, Lords and Blackamoors._]
PRINCESS.
Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Are these the breed of wits so wondered at?
BOYET.
Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puffed out.
ROSALINE.
Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.
PRINCESS.
O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!
Will they not, think you, hang themselves tonight?
Or ever but in vizors show their faces?
This pert Berowne was out of countenance quite.
ROSALINE.
They were all in lamentable cases.
The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.
PRINCESS.
Berowne did swear himself out of all suit.
MARIA.
Dumaine was at my service, and his sword.
“_Non point_,” quoth I; my servant straight was mute.
KATHARINE.
Lord Longaville said I came o’er his heart;
And trow you what he called me?
PRINCESS.
Qualm, perhaps.
KATHARINE.
Yes, in good faith.
PRINCESS.
Go, sickness as thou art!
ROSALINE.
Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.
But will you hear? The King is my love sworn.
PRINCESS.
And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me.
KATHARINE.
And Longaville was for my service born.
MARIA.
Dumaine is mine as sure as bark on tree.
BOYET.
Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear.
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes, for it can never be
They will digest this harsh indignity.
PRINCESS.
Will they return?
BOYET.
They will, they will, God knows,
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows.
Therefore, change favours and, when they repair,
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.
PRINCESS.
How “blow”? How “blow”? Speak to be understood.
BOYET.
Fair ladies masked are roses in their bud.
Dismasked, their damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
PRINCESS.
Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do
If they return in their own shapes to woo?
ROSALINE.
Good madam, if by me you’ll be advised,
Let’s mock them still, as well known as disguised.
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguised like Muscovites in shapeless gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penned,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our tent to us.
BOYET.
Ladies, withdraw. The gallants are at hand.
PRINCESS.
Whip to our tents, as roes run o’er the land.
[_Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Katharine and Maria._]
Enter the King, Berowne, Longaville and Dumaine as themselves.
KING.
Fair sir, God save you. Where’s the Princess?
BOYET.
Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty
Command me any service to her thither?
KING.
That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
BOYET.
I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.
[_Exit._]
BEROWNE.
This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons peas
And utters it again when God doth please.
He is wit’s pedlar, and retails his wares
At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs;
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve.
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.
He can carve too, and lisp. Why, this is he
That kissed his hand away in courtesy.
This is the ape of form, Monsieur the Nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms. Nay, he can sing
A mean most meanly; and in ushering
Mend him who can. The ladies call him sweet.
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.
This is the flower that smiles on everyone,
To show his teeth as white as whale’s bone;
And consciences that will not die in debt
Pay him the due of “honey-tongued Boyet”.
KING.
A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,
That put Armado’s page out of his part!
Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine with Boyet.
BEROWNE.
See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou
Till this man showed thee, and what art thou now?
KING.
All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day.
PRINCESS.
“Fair” in “all hail” is foul, as I conceive.
KING.
Construe my speeches better, if you may.
PRINCESS.
Then wish me better. I will give you leave.
KING.
We came to visit you, and purpose now
To lead you to our court. Vouchsafe it then.
PRINCESS.
This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow.
Nor God nor I delights in perjured men.
KING.
Rebuke me not for that which you provoke.
The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
PRINCESS.
You nickname virtue: “vice” you should have spoke;
For virtue’s office never breaks men’s troth.
Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unsullied lily, I protest,
A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your house’s guest,
So much I hate a breaking cause to be
Of heavenly oaths, vowed with integrity.
KING.
O, you have lived in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
PRINCESS.
Not so, my lord. It is not so, I swear.
We have had pastimes here and pleasant game.
A mess of Russians left us but of late.
KING.
How, madam? Russians?
PRINCESS.
Ay, in truth, my lord.
Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.
ROSALINE.
Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord.
My lady, to the manner of the days,
In courtesy gives undeserving praise.
We four indeed confronted were with four
In Russian habit. Here they stayed an hour
And talked apace; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
BEROWNE.
This jest is dry to me. My gentle sweet,
Your wit makes wise things foolish. When we greet,
With eyes’ best seeing, heaven’s fiery eye,
By light we lose light. Your capacity
Is of that nature that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.
ROSALINE.
This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye—
BEROWNE.
I am a fool, and full of poverty.
ROSALINE.
But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
BEROWNE.
O, I am yours, and all that I possess.
ROSALINE.
All the fool mine?
BEROWNE.
I cannot give you less.
ROSALINE.
Which of the visors was it that you wore?
BEROWNE.
Where, when, what visor? Why demand you this?
ROSALINE.
There, then, that visor; that superfluous case
That hid the worse and showed the better face.
KING.
We are descried. They’ll mock us now downright.
DUMAINE.
Let us confess and turn it to a jest.
PRINCESS.
Amazed, my lord? Why looks your Highness sad?
ROSALINE.
Help! Hold his brows! He’ll swoon. Why look you pale?
Seasick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
BEROWNE.
Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.