 Act 5 of Love's Labors Lost by William Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Act 5, Scene 1 Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel and Dahl Sati squad sufi seat. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sedentious, pleasant without scurrility. Witty without affection. Audacious without impudency. Learned without opinion and strange without heresy. I did converse this quantum day with the companion of the kings, who is intituled, nominated, or called Don Adriano de Armado. Novi hominem tanquante. His humor is lofty. His discourse preemptory. His tongue filed. His eye ambitious. His gait majestical. And his general behavior vain. Ridiculous and drosonical. He is too picked. Too spruce. Too affected. Too odd, as it were. Too peregrinate, as I may call it. Most singular and choice epithet. Draws out his table-book. He droth out the thread of his verbosity, finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical fantasims, such insatiable and point-devise companions, such rakers of orthography, as to speak doubt fine, when he should say doubt, debt when he should pronounce debt. D-E-B-T. Not D-E-T. He kleppeth a kalf taff. Half, half. Nay, bower, neighbor. Nay, abbreviated. Nay. This is abominable, which he would call abominable. It insinuiteth me of insaigne. Ane, intelligis domine. To make frantic lunatic. Laus deo bene intligo. Bon, bon. For bon. Prision? A little scratched? Twill serve. Vides le qui s'venit? Video e gaudeo. Enter Don Adriano di Armado, ma and custard. Cira, quade, cira, natt, sira. Men of peace, well encountered. Most military, sir, salutation. Aside to custard. And at a great feast of languages and stolen the scraps. Oh, they have lived long on the arms-basket of words. I marvel by master has not eaten thee for a word, for there are not so long by the head as honour of the carboton in taxes. There are easier swallowed than a flat-dryer. Peace, the peel begins. To Holofernes. Monsieur, are you not lettered? Yes, yes, he teaches boys how he spelt backward with the horn on his head. Bar, puerizia, with a horn added. Bar, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning. Cuis, cuis, thou consonant. The third of the five vowels if you repeat them, or the fifth if I. I will repeat them. A, E, I. The sheep. The other concludes it. O, U. A sweet touch, a quick venue of wit. Snap, snap, quick and home. It rejoiceth my intellect. True wit. Offered by a child to an old man, which is wit old. What is the figure? What is the figure? Horns. Thou disputest like an infant. Go, whip thy gig. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your infany circumsirca, a gig of a cuckold's horn. And I had but one penny in the world thou shouldst have it by gingerbread. Hold. There is the very remuneration I had of thy mast. Thou have penny-person wit. Thou pigeon egg of discretion. O, and the heavens were so pleased that thou worked with my basket. What a joyful father what's thou made. Go to thou hast to God Dunghill. At the fingers ends as they sit. Oh, I smell false Latin. Dunghill for Angwen. Or Mons. The hill. At your sweet pleasure for the mountain. I do. Sans question. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and affection to congratulate the princess at her pavilion in the prosteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. The posterior of the day. Most generous, sir. Is liable. Congruent. And measurable for the afternoon. The word is well-called. Chose. Sweet. And apt. I do assure you, sir. I do assure. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman. And, my familiar, I do assure you. Very good friend. For what is inward between us? Let it pass. I do beseech thee. Remember thy courtesy. I beseech thee. Apparel thy head. And among other important and most serious designs and of great import indeed, too. But let that pass. For I must tell thee. It will please his grace by the world, some time to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio. But, sweetheart, let that pass. By the world I recount no fable. Some certain special honors it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Armado a soldier, a man of travel that hath seen the world. But let that pass. The very all of all is. But, sweetheart, I do implore secrecy. That the king would have me present the princess, sweet Chuck, with some delightful ostentation or show or pageant or antique or firework. Now, understanding that the cura to your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden breaking out of mirth as it were, I have acquainted you with all to the end to crave your assistance. Sir, you shall present before her the nine worthies. Sir, as concerning some entertainment of time, some show in the posterior of this day to be rendered by our assistance at the king's command. And this most gallant illustrate and learn it, gentlemen, before the princess. I say none so fit as to present the nine worthies. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them? Joshua, yourself, myself, and this gallant, gentlemen, Judas Maccabeus, this swaying, because of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great. The page, Hercules. Pardon, sir, error. He is not quantity enough for that worthy's thumb. He is not so big as the end of his club. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in minority. His enter and exit shall be strangling a snake, and I will have an apology for that purpose. An excellent device. So if any of the audience hiss, you may cry, Well done, Hercules, now thou crushest the snake. That is the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it. For the rest of the worthy's? I will play three, myself. Thrice worthy, gentlemen. Shall I tell you a thing? We attend. We will have, if this fad's not an antique. I beseech you, follow. Fia, good man, dull. Thou hast spoken no word all this while. Nor understood none, neither, sir. Alone. We will employ thee. I'll make one in a dance, or so, or I will play on the tabore to the worthy's, and let them dance the hay. Most dull, honest dull, To our sport away. Exiont. Scene two. Enter the princess, Catherine, Rosaline, and Mariah. Sweethearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, if fairings come thus plentifully in. A lady walled about with diamonds. Look you what I have from the loving king. Madam, came nothing else along with that. Nothing but this? Yes, as much love in rhyme as would be crammed up in a sheet of paper, writ to both sides the leaf, margin, and all that he was feigned to seal on Cupid's name. That was the way to make his godhead wax, for he hath been five thousand years a boy. I, and a shrewd and happy gallows, too. You'll ne'er be friends with him, killed your sister. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy, and so she died. Had she been light, like you, such a merry, nimble, steering spirit, she might have been a grander when she died. And so may you, for a light heart, lives long. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word? A light conditioned in a beauty dark. We need more light to find your meaning out. You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff. Therefore I'll darkly end the argument. Look what you do, you do it still in the dark. So do not you, for you are a light wench. Indeed, I weigh not you, and therefore light. You weigh me not? Oh, that you cannot for me. Great reason, for past cure is still past care. Well bandied both. A set of wit well played. But Rosaline, you have a favour, too. Who sent it, and what is it? I would you knew. And if my face were but as fair as yours, my favour were as great. Be witness this. Nay, I have verses, too, I thank Barone. The numbers true, and were the numbering, too. I were the fairest goddess on the ground. I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. Oh, he hath drawn my picture in his letter. Anything like. Much in the letters, nothing in the praise. Beautiest as ink. A good conclusion. Fair as a text, be in a copy book. Wear pencils, oh, let me not die your debtor. My red dominical, my golden letter. Oh, that your face were not so full of o's. A poxa that jest, and I be shrew o'shrows. But Catherine, what was sent to you from Fair Domaine? Madam, this glove. Did he not send you twain? Yes, madam, and moreover, some thousand verses of a faithful lover, a huge translation of hypocrisy, violently compiled, profound simplicity. This and these pearls to me sent Longerville. The letter is too long by half a mile. I think no less. Just thou not wish in heart the chain were longer, and the letter short? Ay, or I would these hands might never part. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. That same barone I'll torture ere I go. Oh, that I knew he were but in by the week. How I would make him fawn and beg and seek, and wait the season and observe the times, spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes, and shape his service wholly to my hests, and make him proud to make me proud that jests. So pertinent like would I or sway his state that he should be my fool, and I his fate. None are so surely caught when they are catched as wit turned fool. Folly in wisdom hatched hath wisdom's warrant in the help of school, and wits own grace to grace a learned fool. The blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravities revolt to wantonness. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note as foolery in the wise, when wit doth thought, since all the power thereof it doth apply to prove by wit worth in simplicity. Here comes Boyette, and mirth is in his face. Enter Boyette. Oh, I am stabbed with laughter. Where's her grace? My news, Boyette. Prepare, madam, prepare. Arm wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are against your peace. Love doth approach disguised, armed in arguments. You'll be surprised. Muster your wits, stand in your own defence, or hide your heads like cowards and fly hence. Sunda, neat as Saint Cupid! What are they that charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say! Under the cool shade of a sycamore I thought to close my eyes some half an hour, when Lowe, to interrupt my purposed rest toward that shade I might behold, addressed the king and his companions. Rarely I stole into a neighbor thicket by and overheard what you shall overhear, that by and by disguised they will be here. Their herald is a pretty naivish page, that well by heart hath conned his embassage. Action and accent did they teach him there, thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear. And ever and anon they made a doubt, presence majestical would put him out. For, cloth the king, an angel shalt thou see, yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously. The boy replied, an angel is not evil, I should have feared her had she been a devil. With that all laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, making the bold wag by their praises bolder. One rubbed his elbow thus and flared and swore a better speech was never spoke before. Another with his finger in his thumb cried, Via, we will do it, come what will come. The third he capered and cried, all goes well, the fourth turned on the toe and down he fell. With that they all did tumble on the ground, with such a zealous laughter so profound, that in this spleen ridiculous appears to check their folly passions solemn tears. But what, but what, come they to visit us? They do, they do, and are apparel thus, like Muscovites or Russians as I guess. Their purpose is to parlay, to court and dance, and everyone his love-feet will advance unto his several mistresses, which they'll know by favours several which they did bestow. And will they so? The gallants shall be tasked. For ladies, we shall everyone be masked, and not a man of them shall have the grace despite of suit to see a lady's face. Hold, Rutherline, this favour thou shalt wear, and then the king will court thee for his dear. Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, so shall Baran take me for Rutherline. And change your favours, too, so shall your love's woo contrary deceived by these removes. Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight. But in this changing what is your intent? The effect of my intent is to cross theirs. They do it, but in mocking merriment, and mock for mock is only my intent. There several councils they unbosom shall to love's mistook, and so be mocked with all upon the next occasion that we meet, with visages displayed to talk and greet. But shall we dance if they desire to it? No, to the death we will not move a foot, nor to their pen speech render we no grace, but while to spoke each turn away her face. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart and quite divorce his memory from his part. Therefore I do it, and I make no doubt the rest will ne'er come in if he be out. There's no such sport as sport by sport or throne, to make theirs ours and ours none but our own. So shall we stay, mocking intended game, and they, well mocked, depart away with shame. Trumpet sound within. The trumpet sounds. Be masked. The maskers come. The ladies mask. Enter black amours with music. Moth, Ferdinand, Biron, Longaville, and Domaine in Russian habits and masked. All hail the richest beauties on the earth. Beauties no richer than rich Tafeta. A holy parcel of the fairest dames. The ladies turn their backs to him. That ever turned their backs to mortal views. Aside to Moth. Their eyes, villain, their eyes! That ever turned their eyes to mortal views. Out. True. Out indeed. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits. Vouch safe, not to behold. Aside to Moth. Once to behold, rogue! Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes. With your sun-beamed eyes. They will not answer to that epiphyte. You are best call it, daughter-beamed eyes. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. Is this your perfectness? Be God, you rogue! Exit Moth. What would these strangers know their minds, boyet? If they do speak our language to our will, that some plain man recount their purposes know what they would. What would you with a princess? Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. What would they say they? Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. Why, that they have, and bid them so be gone. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. Say to her, we have measured many miles to tread a measure with her on this grass. They say that they have measured many a mile to tread a measure with you on this grass. It is not so. Ask them how many inches is in one mile. If they have measured many, the measure than of one is easily told. If it come hither you have measured miles, and many miles, the princess bids you tell how many inches doth fill up one mile. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. She hears herself. How many weary steps of many weary miles you have or gone are numbered in the travel of one mile. We number nothing that we spend for you. Our duty is so rich, so infinite, that we may do it still without a compt. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face that we, like savages, may worship it. My face is but a moon and clouded too. Blessed are clouds to do as such clouds do. Vouchsafe bright moon and these thy stars to shine. Those clouds removed upon our watery iron. Oh, vain petitioner! Beg a greater matter. Thou now requests but moonshine in the water. Then in our measure do but Vouchsafe one change. Thou bidst me beg. This begging is not strange. Play music, then. Nay, you must do it soon. Music plays. Not yet, no dance. Thus change I, like the moon. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged? You took the moon at full, but now she's changed. Yet still she is the moon and I the man. The music plays. Vouchsafe some motion to it. Our ears vouchsafe it. But your legs should do it. Since you are strangers and come here by chance will not be nice. Take hands. We will not dance. Why take we hands, then? Only to part friends, curtsy sweethearts, and so the measure ends. More measure of this measure be not nice. We can afford no more at such a price. Prize you yourselves, what buys your company? Your absence only. That can never be. Then cannot we be bought? And so adieu, twice to your visor and half once to you. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. In private, then. I am best pleased with that. They converse apart. White-handed mistress. One sweet word with thee. Honey and milk and sugar. There is three. Nay, then, two trays, and if you grow so nice. Uh, methegon, wart and momsy. Well run, dice. There's half a dozen sweets. Seventh sweet adieu. Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. One word in secret. Let it not be sweet. Thou grieved my gall. Gall? Bitter. Therefore meet. They converse apart. Will you voucher with me to change your word? Name it. Fair lady. Say you so. Fair lord, take that for your fair lady. Please it to you. As much in private, and I'll bid it to you. They converse apart. What, was your visit made without a tongue? I know the reason, lady. Why you ask? Oh, for your reason. Quickly, sir, I long. You have a double tongue within your mask, and would afford my speechless, bizarre half? Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not veal a calf? A calf? Fair lady. No, a fair lord calf. Let's part the word. No, I'll not be your half. Take all and wean it. It may prove a nox. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks. Will you give horns? Chase lady? Do not so. Then die a calf before your horns do grow. One word in private with you. Air I die. Bleed softly then. The Buddha hears you cry. They converse apart. 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. Not one word more, my maids. Break off, break off. By heaven, all dry beaten with pure scoff. Farewell, mad wenches. You have simple wits. Twenty adieu's, my frozen muskvits. Exiant Ferdinand, lords and black-a-moors. Are these the breed of wits so wondered at? Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puffed out. Well-liking wits they have. Gross, gross, fat, fat. Oh, poverty and wit, kingly poor flout. Will they not think you hang themselves tonight? Or ever but in visage show their faces. This pert Baran was out of countenance quite. Oh, they were all in lamentable cases. The king was weeping ripe for a good word. Baran did swear himself out of all suit. Domain was at my service and his sword. No point, quoth I. My servant's straight was mute. Lord Langeville said, I came o'er his heart and throw you what he called me. Qualm, perhaps? Yes, in good faith. Go sickness as thou art. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. But will you hear, the king is my love sworn. And quick Baran hath plighted faith to me. Domain is mine as sure as bark on tree. And Langeville was when my serve is born. Madam, and pretty mistress's, give ear. Immediately they will again be here in their own shapes. For it can never be they will digest this harsh indignity. Will they return? 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. How blow, how blow, speak to be understood. Fair ladies masked are roses in their bud. Dismasked their damask sweet comics you're shown are angels veiling clouds or roses brown. A vaunt for plexity. What shall we do if they return in their own shapes to woo? Good madam, if by me you'll be advised that 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 into what end their shallow shows and prologue vilely penned, and their rough carriage so ridiculous should be presented at our tent to us. Ladies, withdraw. The goons are at hand. Whip to our tent, says Rose Runorland. Princess Rosaline, Catherine, and Mariah. Re-enter Ferdinand, Biron, Longaville, and Domaine in their proper habits. Fair sir, God save you. Where's the princess? Gone to her tent. Please at your majesty command me any service to her thither? That she votes save me audience for one word. I will, and so will she. I know my lord. Exit. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons peas, then utters it again when God doth please. His wits peddler and retails his wares at wakes and was-sales, 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 wedges on his sleeve had he been Adam he had tempted Eve. I can carve, too, and lisp. Why? This is he that kissed the hand away in courtesy. This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, that when he plays at tables chides the dice in honorable terms. Nay, he can sing a mean most meanly, and in ushering meant him who can. The ladies call him sweet. The stares 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 boyat. A blister on his sweet tongue with my heart that put Armado's page out of his part. See where it comes! Pahavior! What worth thou to this madman showed thee? And what art thou now? Re-enter the princess, ushered by Boyat, Rosaline, Mariah, and Catherine. All hail, sweet madame, and fair time of day. Fair in all hail is foul as I conceive. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Then wish me better. I will give you leave. We came to visit you, and purposed now to lead you to our court. Vouch safe it, then. This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow. Nor God nor I delights in perjured men. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke. The virtue of your eye must break my oath. You nickname virtue, vice you should have spoke, for virtue's office never breaks men's truth. Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure as the unsullied lily, I protest a world of torment, 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. O, you have lived in desolation here, unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 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. How, madam, Russians? I, in truth, my lord, trim galants full of courtship and of state. 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 feign have drink. This just is dry to me. Fair 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 capacities of that nature that to your huge store wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye I am a fool and full of poverty. But that you take what doth to you belong, it were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. Oh, I am yours and all that I possess. All the fool mine. I cannot give you less. Which of the visors was it that you wore? Where? When? What wizard? Why demand you this? There, then, that visored, that superfluous case that hid the worse and showed the better face. We are described. They'll mock us now downright. Let us confess and turn it to jests. Amazed, my lord, why looks your highness sad? Help hold his brows, he'll swoon. Why look you pale? Seasick, I think, coming from Muscovy. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. Can any face of brass hold longer out? Here stand, I. Lady, dart thy skill at me, bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout, thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance, cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit, and I will wish thee never more to dance, nor never more in Russian habit wait. Oh, never more will I trust the speeches penned, nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue, nor never come envisaged to my friend, nor woo in rhyme like a blind harper's song. Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, three piled high purbelies, spruce affectation, figures pedantical, these summer flies have blown me full of maggot ostentation, I do forswear them. And I hear protest by this white glove, how white the hand God knows. Henceforth my wooing mind shall be expressed in russet, yeas, and honest, cruisy nose. And to begin, wench, so God help me, la. My love to thee is sound, sands crack or flaw. Sands, sands, I pray you. Yet I have a trick of the old rage, bear with me, I am sick, I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see. Right, the Lord have mercy on us on those three. They are infected, in their hearts it lies. They have the plague and caught it of your eyes. These lords are visited. You are not free for the Lord's tokens on you, do I see? No, they are free that gave these tokens to us. Our states are forfeit. Seek not to undo us. It is not so. For how can this be true that you stand forfeit being those that sue? Ah, peace, for I will not have to do with you. Nor shall not if I do as I intend. Speak for yourselves. My wit is at an end. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression some fair excuse. The fairest is confession. Were not you here but even now disguised? Madam, I was. And were you well advised? I was, fair madam. When you then were here, what did you whisper in your lady's ear? That more than all the world I did respect her. When she shall challenge this you will reject her. Upon mine honour, no. Peace, peace, forbear. Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. Despise me when I break this oath of mine. I will, and therefore keep it. Rosaline, what did the Russian whisper in your ear? Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear as precious eyesight, and did value me above this world, adding there too moreover that he would wed me, or else die my lover. God give thee joy of him. The noble Lord most honourably doth unhold his word. What mean you, madam, by my life my truth I never swore this lady such an oath? By heaven you did, and to confirm it plain you gave me this. But take it, sir, again. By faith and this the princess I did give. I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear. And Lord Barone, I thank him, is my dear. What will you have me, or your pearl again? Neither of either. I remit both, Twain. I see the trick, Aunt. Here was a consent, knowing a forehand of our merriment, to dash it like a Christmas comedy. Some carry-tail, some please-man, some slight zany, some mumble-news, some trencher-night, some dick, that smiles his cheek in years, and knows the trick to make my lady laugh when she's disposed, told our intents before, which once disclosed the ladies did change favours, and then we, following the signs, would but the sign of she. Now, to our perjury to add more terror, we are again foresworn in will and error. Much upon this it is, and might not you, forstall our sport to make us thus untrue, do not you know my lady's foot by the squire and laugh upon the apple of her eye, and stand between her back, sir, and the fire, holding a trencher, jesting merrily? To put our page out, go, you are allowed. Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. Do you leer upon me, do you? There's an eye, wounds like a leaden sword. Full merrily hath this brave manage, this career been run. Lo, ye's tilting straight, peace I have done. Enter Costard. Well, welcome, pure wit, thou partest to fair fray. O lords, they would know whether the three worthy shall come in, what are there but three? I know, sir, but as far of beneath, for every one pursuance three. And three times thrice is nine? Not so, sir. Under correction, sir, I hope it is not so, we cannot beg us, sir. I can assure you, sir, we know what we know. I hope, sir, three times three, sir. Is not nine? Under correction, sir. We know where and till it often mount. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. O lords, it would pit you should get your living by reckoning, sir. How much is it? O lords, the parties themselves, the actors, will show her until it often mount. For my known part I am, as they say, but to perfect one man, in one foreman, pocketing the great, sir. Aren't thou one of the worthy, sir? It pleased them to think me worthy of pocketing the great. For my known part I know not the degree of the worthy, but I am to stand. Go, bid them prepare. We will turn it finally off, sir. We will take some care. Exit. Baran, they will shame us, let them not approach. We are shame-proof, my lord, and here's some policy to have one show worse than the kings and his company. I say they shall not come. Nay, my good lord, let me or rule you now. That sport best pleases that doth least know how, where zeal strives to content, and the contents dies in the zeal of that which it presents. Their form confounded makes most form in mirth, when great things labouring perish in their birth. A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter Don Adriano Diarmado. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter abrasive words. Converse as a part with Ferdinand, and deliverst him a paper. Doth this man serve God? I ask you. He speaks not like a man of God's making. That is all one, my fair sweet honey monarch. For I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical. Too, too vain, too, too vain. But we will put it, as they say, to Fortuna de la Guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement. Exit. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies. He presents Hector of Troy, the Swain Pompey the Great, the Parish Curate Alexander, Armado's Page Hercules, the Pedant Judas Maccabeus, and if these four worthies in their first show thrive, these four will change habits and present the other five. There is five in the first show. You are deceived, tis not so. The Pedant, the Braggart, the Hedge Priest, the Fool, and the Boy. A bait throw at Novum, and the whole world again cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. Enter Costard for Pompey. I, Pompey, am. You lie, you are not he. I, Pompey, am. With Le Bard's head on knee. Well said, old Mocker. I must needs be friends with thee. I, Pompey, am. Pompey's surname the Big. The Great. It is Great, sir. Pompey's surname the Great. That often feel with hodge and shield and make my foot a sweat. Been travelling along this coast, I hear am come by chance, and lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of lands. If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey. I had done. Great, thanks. Great, Pompey. It is not so much worth, but I hope I was perfect. I made a little thought. Great. I had to a-hape any Pompey proves the best worthy. Enter Sir Nathaniel for Alexander. When in the world I lived, I was the world's commander. By east, west, north and south I spread my conquering might. My scotch in plain declares that I am Alessander. Your nose says no. You are not for it stands too right. Your nose smells no in this most tender smelling night. The conqueror is dismayed. Proceed, good Alexander. When in the world I lived, I was the world's commander. Most true to his right. You were so Alessander. Pompey the Great. Your servant. En cost. Take away the conqueror. Take away Alessander. To Sir Nathaniel. Oh sir, you have overthrown Alessander the conqueror. You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this. Your lion that holds his poleax sitting on the closed stool will be given to Ajax. He will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror in the field to speak. Run away for shame, Alessander. Sir Nathaniel retires. There, and shall please you, a foolish mild man. An honest man will prove and soon dashed. He is a marvelous, good neighbor, faithful and a very good bowler. But for Alessander, alas, you see how this a little or parted. But there are worthies a come who will speak their mind in some other sort. Enter Holofernes for Judas and Ma for Hercules. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, whose club killed Cerberus, that three-headed conice. And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, did he strangle serpents in his manus. Quanium he seameth in minority. Ergo, I come with this apology. Keep some state and I exit and vanish. Moth retires. Judas, I am. A Judas. Not Iscariot, sir. Judas, I am. Eclipt Maccabeus. Judas Maccabeus. Eclipt is plain Judas. A kissing traitor. How had that proved Judas? Judas, I am. The more shame for you, Judas. What mean you, sir? To make Judas hang himself. Begin, sir. You are my elder. Well followed. Judas was hanged on an elder. I will not be put out of countenance. Because thou hast no face. What is this? A sitter in head. The head of a bodkin. A death's face in a ring. The face of an old rum coin. Scarecene. The pommel of Caesar's falchion. The guard run face of a flask. Sir George's half-cheek in a brooch. I am in a brooch of lead. I am worn in the cap of a tooth drawer. And now, forward, for we have put the in countenance. You have put me out of countenance. False, we have given thee three faces. But you have outfaced them all. And now we're to lie and we would do so. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. And so adieu, sweet Jude. Nay, why dost thou stay? For the letter end of his name. For the ass to the Jude. Give it him. Judas, away! This is not generous. Not gentle. Not humble. A light for Monsieur Judas. It grows dark. He may stumble. Hallofurnus, pretires. Alas, poor Maccabeus. How have he been baited? Enter Don Adriano de Armado for Hector. Hide thy head Achilles. Here comes Hector in arms. Do my mocks come home by me. I'll now be married. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. But is this Hector? I think Hector was not so clean-timbered. His leg is too big for Hector's. Morgoth, Satan. No, he is best endued in the small. This cannot be Hector. He's a God or a painter. Or he makes faces. The armipotent Mars of Lances the Almighty gave Hector a gift. It kills not me. A lemon. Stop with clothes. No, gloven. Peace. The armipotent Mars of Lances the Almighty gave Hector a gift. The air of Illian. A man so breathed that certain he would fight. Yay from mourn till night out of his pavilion. I am that flower. That mint. That Columbine. Sweet Lord Longerville, rain thy tongue. I must rather give it the rain, for it runs against Hector. Aye, and Hector is a greenhouse. The sweet war man is dead and rotten. Sweet Chuck's beat not the bones of the buried when he breathed that he was a man. But I will forward with my device. To the Princess. Sweet Royalty bestow on me the sense of hearing. Speak, brave Hector, we are much delighted. I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper. Aside to Domain. Loves her by the foot. Aside to Boyet. He may not bite a year. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal. The party is gone, fellow Hector. She is gone. She is two months on her way. What meanest thou? Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan. The poor winches cast away. She's quick. The child brags in her berry already. It is yours. Tust thou informonize me among potentates. Thou shall die. Then shall Hector be whipped for Yakineta that is quick by him. And hanged for Pompey that is dead by him. Most rare, Pompey. Renowned Pompey. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey. Pompey the huge. Hector trembles. Pompey's moved. More attes, more attes. Stir them on, stir them on. Hector will challenge you. Aye, if I have no man's blood in his belly then we'll supper flee. By the North Pole I do challenge thee. Aye, we'll not fight with a pole like a northern man. I'll slash. I'll do it by the sword. I'd afraid you'd let me borrow my arms again. Room for the incense toward ease. I'll do it in my shirt. Must resolute Pompey. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see Pompey as uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose your reputation. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me. I will not combat in my shirt. You may not deny it. Pompey had made the change. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. What reason have you for it? The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt. I go woolward for penance. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen. Since when I'll be sworn he wore none but a dish-cloud of Jacquanettas and that awares next his heart for a favour. Enter Mercad. God save you, madam. Welcome, Mercad, but that thou interrupts our merriment. I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring is heavy in my tongue. The king, your father. Dad, for my life. Even so, my tale is told. Worthies away, the scene begins to cloud. For my own part I breathe free breath. I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion and I will write myself like a soldier. Exeunt Worthies. How fair is your majesty? Boy, yet prepare. I will away to-night. Madam, not so. I do beseech you stay. Prepare, I say. I thank you gracious lords for all your fair endeavours and in treat 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 nimble tongue. Excuse me so coming too short of thanks for my great suit so easily obtained. 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 bid the smiling courtesy of love the holy suit which feign it would convince, yet since love's argument was first on foot, let not the cloud of sorrow jostle it from what it purposed, since to wail friends lost is not by much so wholesome profitable as to rejoice at friends but newly found. I understand you not. My griefs are double. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief, and by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, played foul play with our oaths. Your beauty ladies hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours even to the opposed end of our intents. And what in us has seemed ridiculous, as love is full of unbefitting strains, all wanton as a child skipping in vain, formed by the eye and therefore like the eye full of strange shapes of habits and of forms, varying in subjects as the eye doth roll to every varied object in his glance? Which party-coated presence of loose love put on by us if in your heavenly eyes have misbecombed 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 our self prove false by being once false forever 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. We have received your letters full of love, your favours the ambassadors 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 have we not been, and therefore met your loves in their own fashion like a merriment. Our latest, madam, should much more than jest. So did our looks. We did not quote them so. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, grant us your loves. A time me thinks too short to make a world without end bargain in. No, no, my lord. Your grace is perjured much, full of dear guiltiness. And therefore this. If for my love as there is no such cause you will do ought, this shall you do for me. Your oath I will not trust, but go with speed to some forlorn and naked hermitage, remote from all the pleasures of the world. There stay until the twelve celestial signs have brought about the annual reckoning. If this austere insatiable life change not your offer made in heat of blood, if frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds, nip-notch the gaudy blossoms of your love, but that it bear this trial and last love, then at the expiration of the year, come challenge me, challenge me by these desserts, and by this virgin palm now kissing thine I will be thine. And till that instant shut my woeful self up in a morning-house, reigning the tears of lamentation for the remembrance of my father's death. If this thou do deny, let our hands part, neither entitled in the other's heart. If this or more than this I would deny to flatter up these powers of mine with rest, the sudden hand of death close up mine eye. Hence ever, then, my heart is in thy breast. And what to me, my love? And what to me? You must be purged, too. Your sins are wracked. You are a taint with faults and perjury. Therefore, if you my favor mean to get, a twelve-month shall you spend and never rest, but seek the weary beds of people sick. But what to me, my love? But what to me? A why? A beard, fair health, and honesty. With threefold love I wish you all these three. Oh, shall I say? I thank you, gentlemen wife. Not so, my lord. A twelve-month and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-faced who are say, come when the king doth to my lady come. Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. I'll serve thee true and faithful it till then. Yes, we are not. Lest ye be false one again. What says Mariah? At a twelve-month's end I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. I'll stay with patience, but the time is long. The likeer you, few taller are so young. Studies my lady. Mistress, look on me. Behold the window of my heart, mine I. What humble suit attends thy answer there. Impose some service on me for thy love. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Barone, before I saw you, and the world's large tongue proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, full of comparisons and wounding flouts, which you on all estates will execute that lie within the mercy of your wit. To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain and therewithal to win me, if you please, without the which I am not to be won, you shall this twelve-month term from day to day visit the speechless sick and still converse with groaning wretches, and your task shall be, with all the fierce endeavor of your wit, to enforce the painted impotent to smile. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be, it is impossible. Merth cannot move a soul in agony. Why, that's the way to choke a guibing spirit, whose influence is begot of that loose grace which shallow laughing hearers give to fools. A jest's prosperity lies in the ear of him that hears it, never in the tongue of him that makes it. Then, if sickly ears, dept with the clamors of their own dear groans, will hear your idle scorns continue then, and I will have you and that fault with all. But if they will not, throw away that spirit, and I shall find you empty of that fault, right joyful of your reformation. A twelve-month? Well, before what will befall, I'll jest a twelve-month in the hospital. To burden them. I, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave. No, madam, we will bring you on your way. Our wooing doth not end like an old play. Jack hath not jill. These ladies' courtesy might well have made our sport a comedy. Come, sir, it wants a twelve-month and a day, and then twill end. That's too long for a play. Re-enter Don Adriano D'Armado. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me. Was not that hector. The woody knights of Troy. I will kiss thy royal finger and take leave. I am a votary. I have vowed to Jacaneta to hold the plow for her sweet love three years. But most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? It should have followed in the end of our show. Call them forth quickly. We will do so. Hala, approach. Re-enter Halafernes, Sir Nathaniel, Ma, Costard, and others. This side is hymns, winter. This, there, the spring. The one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. There, begin. The song. When daisies pied and violets blue and ladies smocks all silver-white and cuckoo buds of yellow hue do paint the meadows with delight, the cuckoo then, on every tree, mocks married men. For thus sings he, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, O word of fear, unpleasing to a married ear. When shepherds pipe on otten straws and merry larks are plowmen's clocks, when turtles tread and rooks and doors and maidens bleach their summer smocks, the cuckoo then, on every tree, mocks married men. For thus sings he, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, O word of fear, unpleasing to a married ear. Winter. When icicles hang by the wall, and dick the shepherd blows his nail, and Tom bears logs into the hall, and milk comes frozen home in pale. When blood is nipped and ways be foul, then nightly sings the staring owl, to it to woo, a merry note, while greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, and coughing drowns the parson's saw, and birds sit brooding in the snow, and Marion's nose looks red and raw, when roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, then nightly sings the staring owl, to it to woo, a merry note, while greasy Joan doth keel the pot. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that way, we this way.