________________________________________________
_ ACT IV. SCENE I.
The park.
[Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA,
KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS, ATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER.]
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
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 OF FRANCE.
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 OF FRANCE.
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 OF FRANCE.
What, what? First praise me, and again say no?
O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? Alack for woe!
FORESTER.
Yes, madam, fair.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
Nay, never paint me now;
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:
[Giving him money]
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
FORESTER.
Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
But come, the bow. Now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill;
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes:
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart;
As I for praise alone now seek to spill
The poor deer's blood that my heart means no ill.
BOYET.
Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
Only for praise sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
Only for praise; and praise we may afford
To any lady that subdues a lord.
[Enter COSTARD.]
BOYET.
Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
COSTARD.
God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest
that have no heads.
COSTARD.
Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
The thickest and the tallest.
COSTARD.
The thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth.
An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
What's your will, sir? What's your will?
COSTARD.
I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne
to one Lady Rosaline.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
O, thy letter, thy letter!
He's a good friend of mine.
Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve.
Break up this capon.
BOYET.
I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook; it importeth none here.
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.
BOYET.
[Reads]
'By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible;
true that thou art beauteous; truth itself that thou art
lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous,
truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical
vassal. The magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua
set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon;
and he it was that might rightly say, 'Veni, vidi, vici';
which to annothanize in the vulgar,- O base and obscure
vulgar!- videlicet, He came, saw, and overcame. He came,
one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came?- the king.
Why did he come?- to see. Why did he see?-to overcome.
To whom came he?- to the beggar. What saw he?- the beggar.
Whoovercame he?- the beggar. The conclusion is victory;
on whose side?- the king's. The captive is enrich'd;
on whose side?- the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial;
on whose side?- the king's. No, on both in one, or one
in both. I am the king, for so stands the comparison;
thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness.
Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love?
I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt
thou exchange for rags?- robes, for tittles?- titles,
for thyself? -me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane
my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart
on thy every part.
Thine in the dearest design of industry,
DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.
'Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey;
Submissive fall his princely feet before,
And he from forage will incline to play.
But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.'
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
What plume of feathers is he that indited
this letter? What vane? What weathercock?
Did you ever hear better?
BOYET.
I am much deceived but I remember the style.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile.
BOYET.
This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;
A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the Prince and his book-mates.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
Thou fellow, a word.
Who gave thee this letter?
COSTARD.
I told you: my lord.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
To whom shouldst thou give it?
COSTARD.
From my lord to my lady.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
From which lord to which lady?
COSTARD.
From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline.
PRINCESS OF FRANCE.
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.
[To ROSALINE]
Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day.
[Exeunt PRINCESS and TRAIN.]
BOYET.
Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?
ROSALINE.
Shall I teach you to know?
BOYET.
Ay, my continent of beauty.
ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow.
Finely put off!
BOYET.
My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on!
ROSALINE.
Well then, I am the shooter.
BOYET.
And who is your deer?
ROSALINE.
If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
Finely put on indeed!
MARIA.
You Still wrangle with her,
Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
BOYET.
But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now?
ROSALINE.
Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a
man when King Pepin of France was a little boy,
as touching the hit it?
BOYET.
So I may answer thee with one as old,
that was a woman when Queen Guinever of
Britain was a little wench, as touching
the hit it.
ROSALINE.
[Singing]
Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
BOYET.
An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
An I cannot, another can.
[Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE.]
COSTARD.
By my troth, most pleasant! How both did fit it!
MARIA.
A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.
BOYET.
A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!
Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.
MARIA.
Wide o' the bow-hand! I' faith, your hand is out.
COSTARD.
Indeed, 'a must shoot nearer,
or he'll ne'er hit the clout.
BOYET.
An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
COSTARD.
Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.
MARIA.
Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.
COSTARD.
She's too hard for you at pricks, sir;
challenge her to bowl.
BOYET.
I fear too much rubbing; good-night, my good owl.
[Exeunt BOYET and MARIA.]
COSTARD.
By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown!
Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down!
O' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit!
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.
Armado a th' t'one side- O, a most dainty man!
To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!
To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly 'a will swear!
And his page a t' other side, that handful of wit!
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
Sola, sola!
[Exit COSTARD.] _
Read next: ACT IV: SCENE II
Read previous: ACT III: SCENE I
Table of content of Love's Labour's Lost
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
