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$Unique_ID{SSP02104} $Title{Love's Labours Lost: Act III, Scene I} $Author{Shakespeare, William} $Subject{} $Log{Dramatis Personae*02100.txt} Portions copyright (c) CMC ReSearch, Inc., 1989 The Complete Works of William Shakespeare LOVE'S LABOURS LOST ACT III ................................................................................ SCENE I: The same. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO and MOTH.} DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing. MOTH: Concolinel. [Singing.] DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: 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? DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: 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, humour it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and 10 sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin-belly 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 humours; these betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without 20 these; and make them men of note--do you note me?--that most are affected to these. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: How hast thou purchased this experience? MOTH: By my penny of observation. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: But O,--but O,-- MOTH: 'The hobby-horse is forgot.' DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: Callest thou my love 'hobby-horse'? MOTH: No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love? 30 DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: Almost I had. MOTH: Negligent student! learn her by heart. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: By heart and in heart, boy. MOTH: And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: What wilt thou prove? MOTH: A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of 40 heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: I am all these three. MOTH: And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter. MOTH: A message well sympathized; a horse to be ambassador for an ass. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: Ha, ha! what sayest thou? MOTH: Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, 50 for he is very slow-gaited. But I go. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: The way is but short: away! MOTH: As swift as lead, sir. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: The meaning, pretty ingenious? Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? MOTH: Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: I say lead is slow. MOTH: You are too swift, sir, to say so: Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun? DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: Sweet smoke of rhetoric! He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he: 60 I shoot thee at the swain. MOTH: Thump then and I flee. [Exit.] DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of grace! By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face: Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is return'd. {Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD.} MOTH: A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy l'envoy; begin. COSTARD: No enigma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! no l'envoy, no l'envoy; no salve, sir, but a plantain! 70 DON ADRIANO DE 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? DON ADRIANO DE 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, 80 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. DON ADRIANO DE 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, 90 Were still at odds, being but three. DON ADRIANO DE 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. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin? 100 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. DON ADRIANO DE 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: 110 I Costard, running out, that was safely within, Fell over the threshold and broke my shin. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: We will talk no more of this matter. COSTARD: Till there be more matter in the shin. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. COSTARD: O, marry me to one Frances: I smell some l'envoy, some goose, in this. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound. 120 COSTARD: True, true; and now you will be my purgation and let me loose. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO: I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this significant [Giving a letter.] to the country maid Jaquenetta: 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! 130 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 BIRON.} BIRON: O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met. COSTARD: Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration? BIRON: What is a remuneration? 140 COSTARD: Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. BIRON: Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk. COSTARD: I thank your worship: God be wi' you! BIRON: 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? BIRON: This afternoon. COSTARD: Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well. BIRON: Thou knowest not what it is. 150 COSTARD: I shall know, sir, when I have done it. BIRON: Why, villain, thou must know first. COSTARD: I will come to your worship to-morrow morning. BIRON: 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 160 This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go. [Giving him a shilling.] COSTARD: Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration, a'leven-pence farthing better: most sweet gardon! I will do it sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration! [Exit.] BIRON: 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 whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy; 170 This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Regent of love-rhymes, 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! I love! I sue! I seek a wife! 180 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 perjured, 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: 190 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.]