Original text Act III, Scene I Enter Broggart and Boy. Song.
Bra.
Warble childe, make passionate my sense of
hearing.
Boy.
Concolinel.
Brag.
Sweete Ayer, go tendernesse of yeares: take this Key,
giue enlargement to the swaine, bring him festinatly
hither: I must imploy him in a letter to my Loue.
Boy.
Will you win your loue with a French
braule?
Bra.
How meanest thou, brauling in French?
Boy.
No my compleat master, but to Iigge off a tune at
the tongues end, canarie to it with the feete, humour it
with turning vp your eie: sigh a note and sing a
note, sometime through the throate: if you swallowed
loue with singing, loue sometime through: nose as if
you snuft vp loue by smelling loue with your hat
penthouse- like ore the shop of your eies, with your
armes crost on your thinbellie doublet, like a Rabbet
on a spit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after
the old painting, and keepe not too long in one tune, but a
snip and away: these are complements, these are humours,
these betraie nice wenches that would be betraied
without these, and make them men of note: do you
note men that most are affected to these?
Brag.
How hast thou purchased this experience?
Boy.
By my penne of obseruation.
Brag.
But O, but O.
Boy.
The Hobbie-horse is forgot.
Bra.
Cal'st thou my loue Hobbi-horse.
Boy.
No Master, the Hobbie-horse is but a Colt,
and your Loue perhaps, a Hacknie: But haue
you forgot your Loue?
Brag.
Almost I had.
Boy.
Negligent student, learne her by heart.
Brag.
By heart, and in heart Boy.
Boy.
And out of heart Master: all those three I will
proue.
Brag.
What wilt thou proue?
Boy.
A man, if I liue (and this) by, in, and without,
vpon the instant: by heart you loue her, because your
heart cannot come by her: in heart you loue her,
because your heart is in loue with her: and out of
heart you loue her, being out of heart that you cannot
enioy her.
Brag.
I am all these three.
Boy.
And three times as much more, and yet nothing at
all.
Brag.
Fetch hither the Swaine, he must carrie mee a
letter.
Boy.
A message well simpathis'd, a Horse to be embassadour
for an Asse.
Brag.
Ha, ha, What saiest thou?
Boy.
Marrie sir, you must send the Asse vpon the Horse
for he is verie slow gated: but I goe.
Brag.
The way is but short, away.
Boy.
As swift as Lead sir.
Brag.
Thy meaning prettie ingenious, is not Lead a
mettall heauie, dull, and slow?
Boy.
Minnime honest Master, or rather Master no.
Brad.
I say Lead is slow.
Boy.
You are too swift sir to say so.
Is that Lead slow which is fir'd from a Gunne?
Brag.
Sweete smoke of Rhetorike,
He reputes me a Cannon, and the Bullet that's he:
I shoote thee at the Swaine.
Boy.
Thump then, and I flee.
Bra.
A most acute Iuuenall, voluble and free of grace,
By thy fauour sweet Welkin, I must sigh in thy face.
Most rude melancholie, Valour giues thee place.
My Herald is return'd.
Enter Page and Clowne.
Pag.
A wonder Master, here's a Costard broken in a shin.
Ar.
Some enigma, some riddle, come, thy Lenuoy begin.
Clo.
No egma, no riddle, no lenuoy, no salue, in thee
male sir. Or sir, Plantan, a plaine Plantan: no lenuoy,
no lenuoy, no Salue sir, but a Plantan.
Ar.
By vertue thou inforcest laughter, thy sillie
thought, my spleene, the heauing of my lunges prouokes
me to rediculous smyling: O pardon me my stars,
doth the inconsiderate take salue for lenuoy, and the
word lenuoy for a salue?
Pag.
Doe the wise thinke them other, is not lenuoy a
salue?
Ar.
No Page, it is an epilogue or discourse to make plaine,
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore bin faine.
The Foxe, the Ape, and the Humble-Bee,
Were still at oddes, being but three.
Arm.
Vntill the Goose came out of doore,
Staying the oddes by adding foure.
Pag.
A good Lenuoy, ending in the Goose: would you
desire more?
Clo.
The Boy hath sold him a bargaine, a Goose, that's flat
Sir, your penny-worth is good, and your Goose be fat.
To sell a bargaine well is as cunning as fast and loose:
Let me see a fat Lenuoy, I that's a fat Goose.
Ar.
Come hither, come hither: / How did this argument begin?
Boy.
By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.
Then cal'd you for the Lenuoy.
Clow.
True, and I for a Plantan: / Thus came your
argument in: / Then the Boyes fat Lenuoy, the Goose that
you bought, / And he ended the market.
Ar.
But tell me: How was there a Costard broken in a
shin?
Pag.
I will tell you sencibly.
Clow.
Thou hast no feeling of it Moth, / I will speake
that Lenuoy.
I Costard running out, that was safely within,
Fell ouer the threshold, and broke my shin.
Arm.
We will talke no more of this matter.
Clow.
Till there be more matter in the shin.
Arm.
Sirra Costard, I will infranchise thee.
Clow.
O, marrie me to one Francis, I smell some
Lenuoy, some Goose in this.
Arm.
By my sweete soule, I meane, setting thee at libertie.
Enfreedoming thy person: thou wert emured,
restrained, captiuated, bound.
Clow.
True, true, and now you will be my purgation,
and let me loose.
Arm.
I giue thee thy libertie, set thee from durance,
and in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this:
Beare this significant to the
countrey Maide Iaquenetta: there is remuneration,
for the best ward of mine honours is rewarding
my dependants. Moth, follow.
Pag.
Like the sequell I. / Signeur Costard adew.
Exit.
Clow.
My sweete ounce of mans flesh, my in-conie Iew:
Now will I looke to his remuneration. Remuneration, O,
that's the Latine word for three-farthings: Three-
farthings remuneration, What's the price of this yncle?
i.d. no, Ile giue you a remuneration: Why?
It carries it remuneration: Why? It is a fairer name
then a French-Crowne. I will neuer buy and sell out of
this word.
Enter Berowne.
Ber.
O my good knaue Costard, exceedingly well met.
Clow.
Pray you sir, How much Carnation Ribbon may
a man buy for a remuneration?
Ber.
What is a remuneration?
Cost.
Marrie sir, halfe pennie farthing.
Ber.
O, Why then three farthings worth of Silke.
Cost.
I thanke your worship, God be wy you.
Ber.
O stay slaue, I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my fauour, good my knaue,
Doe one thing for me that I shall intreate.
Clow.
When would you haue it done sir?
Ber.
O this after-noone.
Clo.
Well, I will doe it sir: Fare you well.
Ber.
O thou knowest not what it is.
Clo.
I shall know sir, when I haue done it.
Ber.
Why villaine thou must know first.
Clo.
I wil come to your worship to morrow morning.
Ber.
It must be done this after-noone,
Harke slaue, it is but this:
The Princesse comes to hunt here in the Parke,
And in her traine there is a gentle Ladie:
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
And Rosaline they call her, aske for her:
And to her white hand see thou do commend
This seal'd-vp counsaile.
Ther's thy guerdon: goe.
Clo.
Gardon, O sweete gardon, better then
remuneration, a leuenpence-farthing better: most sweete
gardon. I will doe it sir in print: gardon,
remuneration.
Exit.
Ber.
O, and I forsooth in loue,
I that haue beene loues whip?
A verie Beadle to a humerous sigh: A Criticke,
Nay, a night-watch Constable.
A domineering pedant ore the Boy,
Then whom no mortall so magnificent,
This wimpled, whyning, purblinde waiward Boy,
This signior Iunios gyant drawfe, don Cupid,
Regent of Loue-rimes, Lord of folded armes,
Th'annointed soueraigne of sighes and groanes:
Liedge of all loyterers and malecontents:
Dread Prince of Placcats, King of Codpeeces.
Sole Emperator and great generall
Of trotting Parrators (O my little heart.)
And I to be a Corporall of his field,
And weare his colours like a Tumblers hoope.
What? I loue, I sue, I seeke a wife,
A woman that is like a Germane Cloake,
Still a repairing: euer out of frame,
And neuer going a right, being a Watch:
But being watcht, that it may still goe right.
Nay, to be periurde, which is worst of all:
And among three, to loue the worst of all,
A whitly wanton, with a veluet brow.
With two pitch bals stucke in her face for eyes.
I, and by heauen, one that will doe the deede,
Though Argus were her Eunuch and her garde.
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 dreadfull little might.
Well, I will loue, write, sigh, pray, shue, grone,
Some men must loue my Lady, and some Ione.
| Modern text Enter Armado and Mote
ARMADO
Warble, child: make passionate my sense of
hearing.
MOTE
MOTE (singing) Concolinel.
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.
MOTE
Master, will you win your love with a French
brawl?
ARMADO
How meanest thou? Brawling in French?
MOTE
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 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 compliments, these are humours,
these betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed
without these; and make them men of note – do you
note me? – that most are affected to these.
ARMADO
How hast thou purchased this experience?
MOTE
By my penny of observation.
ARMADO
But O – but O –
MOTE
‘ The hobby-horse is forgot.’
ARMADO
Callest thou my love ‘ hobby-horse ’?
MOTE
(aside)
No, master. The hobby-horse is but a colt, (aside)
(To him)
and your love perhaps a hackney. (To him) But have
you forgot your love?
ARMADO
Almost I had.
MOTE
Negligent student! Learn her by heart.
ARMADO
By heart and in heart, boy.
MOTE
And out of heart, master. All those three I will
prove.
ARMADO
What wilt thou prove?
MOTE
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
heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot
enjoy her.
ARMADO
I am all these three.
MOTE
And three times as much more, and yet nothing at
all.
ARMADO
Fetch hither the swain. He must carry me a
letter.
MOTE
A message well sympathized – a horse to be ambassador
for an ass.
ARMADO
Ha, ha, what sayest thou?
MOTE
Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse,
for he is very slow-gaited. But I go.
ARMADO
The way is but short. Away!
MOTE
As swift as lead, sir.
ARMADO
The meaning, pretty ingenious? Is not lead a
metal heavy, dull, and slow?
MOTE
Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.
ARMADO
I say lead is slow.
MOTE
You are too swift, sir, to say so.
Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun?
ARMADO
Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he.
I shoot thee at the swain.
MOTE
Thump then, and I flee.
Exit
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 returned.
Enter Mote with Costard
MOTE
A wonder, master! Here's a Costard broken in a shin.
ARMADO
Some enigma, some riddle. Come, thy l'envoy – begin.
COSTARD
No egma, 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!
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?
MOTE
Do the wise think them other? Is not l'envoy a
salve?
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
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral. Now the l'envoy –
MOTE
I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again.
ARMADO
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee
Were still at odds, being but three.
MOTE
Until the goose came out of door,
And stayed 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
Were still at odds, being but three.
ARMADO
Until the goose came out of door,
Staying the odds by adding four.
MOTE
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.
ARMADO
Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?
MOTE
By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.
Then called 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.
ARMADO
But tell me, how was there a costard broken in a
shin?
MOTE
I will tell you sensibly.
COSTARD
Thou hast no feeling of it, Mote. I will speak
that l'envoy.
I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,
Fell over the threshold and broke my shin.
ARMADO
We will talk no more of this matter.
COSTARD
Till there be more matter in the shin.
ARMADO
Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.
COSTARD
O, marry me to one Frances! I smell some
l'envoy, some goose, in this.
ARMADO
By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty,
enfreedoming thy person. Thou wert immured,
restrained, captivated, bound.
COSTARD
True, true, and now you will be my purgation
and let me loose.
ARMADO
I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance,
and, in lieu thereof impose on thee nothing but this:
(giving Costard a letter) bear this significant to the
country maid Jaquenetta. There is remuneration (giving
him a coin), for the best ward of mine honour is
rewarding my dependants. Mote, follow.
MOTE
Like the sequel, I. Signor Costard, adieu.
Exeunt Armado and Mote
COSTARD
My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew! – Now
will I look to his remuneration. ‘ Remuneration ’! 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 fairer name
than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of
this word.
Enter Berowne
BEROWNE
My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met.
COSTARD
Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may
a man buy for a remuneration?
BEROWNE
What is a remuneration?
COSTARD
Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.
BEROWNE
Why then, three-farthing worth of silk.
COSTARD
I thank your worship. God be wi' you.
BEROWNE
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?
BEROWNE
This afternoon.
COSTARD
Well, I will do it, sir. Fare you well.
BEROWNE
Thou knowest not what it is.
COSTARD
I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
BEROWNE
Why, villain, thou must know first.
COSTARD
I will come to your worship tomorrow morning.
BEROWNE
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
This sealed-up counsel.
He gives Costard a letter
There's thy guerdon – go.
He gives him money
COSTARD
Guerdon, O sweet guerdon! Better than
remuneration – elevenpence farthing better. Most sweet
guerdon! I will do it, sir, in print. Guerdon!
Remuneration!
Exit
BEROWNE
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 wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,
This Signor-Junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid,
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
Th' 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 love? I sue? I seek a wife?
A woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watched 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 whitely 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!
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
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