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Love's Labour's Lost


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doth owe.

          A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and

      red.

        ARMADO. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?

        MOTH. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three

      ages

          since; but I think now 'tis not to be found; or if it were,

      it

          would neither serve for the writing nor the tune.

        ARMADO. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may

          example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do

      love

          that country girl that I took in the park with the rational

      hind

          Costard; she deserves well.

        MOTH. [Aside] To be whipt; and yet a better love than my

      master.

        ARMADO. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.

        MOTH. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.

        ARMADO. I say, sing.

        MOTH. Forbear till this company be past.

      Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA

        DULL. Sir, the Duke's pleasure is that you keep Costard safe;

      and

          you must suffer him to take no delight nor no penance; but 'a

          must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her

      at

          the park; she is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well.

        ARMADO. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid!

        JAQUENETTA. Man!

        ARMADO. I will visit thee at the lodge.

        JAQUENETTA. That's hereby.

        ARMADO. I know where it is situate.

        JAQUENETTA. Lord, how wise you are!

        ARMADO. I will tell thee wonders.

        JAQUENETTA. With that face?

        ARMADO. I love thee.

        JAQUENETTA. So I heard you say.

        ARMADO. And so, farewell.

        JAQUENETTA. Fair weather after you!

        DULL. Come, Jaquenetta, away. Exit with JAQUENETTA

        ARMADO. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be

          pardoned.

        COSTARD. Well, sir, I hope when I do it I shall do it on a full

          stomach.

        ARMADO. Thou shalt be heavily punished.

        COSTARD. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are

      but

          lightly rewarded.

        ARMADO. Take away this villain; shut him up.

        MOTH. Come, you transgressing slave, away.

        COSTARD. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, being loose.

        MOTH. No, sir; that were fast, and loose. Thou shalt to prison.

        COSTARD. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation

      that I

          have seen, some shall see.

        MOTH. What shall some see?

        COSTARD. Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look upon. It

      is

          not for prisoners to be too silent in their words, and

      therefore

          I will say nothing. I thank God I have as little patience as

          another man, and therefore I can be quiet.

                                               Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD

        ARMADO. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her

      shoe,

          which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth

      tread.

          I shall be forsworn- which is a great argument of falsehood-

      if I

          love. And how can that be true love which is falsely

      attempted?

          Love is a familiar; Love is a devil. There is no evil angel

      but

          Love. Yet was Samson so tempted, and he had an excellent

          strength; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good

      wit.

          Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and

      therefore

          too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second

      cause

          will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the

      duello

          he regards not; his disgrace is to be called boy, but his

      glory

          is to subdue men. Adieu, valour; rust, rapier; be still,

      drum;

          for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some

          extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet.

          Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.

       Exit

      ACT II. SCENE II. The park

      Enter the PRINCESS OF FRANCE, with three attending ladies, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, and two other LORDS

        BOYET. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits.

          Consider who the King your father sends,

          To whom he sends, and what's his embassy:

          Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,

          To parley with the sole inheritor

          Of all perfections that a man may owe,

          Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight

          Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.

          Be now as prodigal of all dear grace

          As Nature was in making graces dear,

          When she did starve the general world beside

          And prodigally gave them all to you.

        PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but

      mean,

          Needs not the painted flourish of your praise.

          Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,

          Not utt'red by base sale of chapmen's tongues;

          I am less proud to hear you tell my worth

          Than you much willing to be counted wise

          In spending your wit