I will tell you sensibly.
COSTARD.
Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: 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 a letter.] Bear this significant to the country maid Jaquenetta. [Giving money.] 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! 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 BEROWNE.]
BEROWNE.
O! My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met.
COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation riband 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.
O, this afternoon.
COSTARD.
Well, I will do it, sir! fare you well.
BEROWNE.
O, 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 seal’d-up counsel.
[Gives him a shilling.]
There’s thy guerdon: go.
COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration; a ‘levenpence farthing better; most sweet gardon! I will do it, sir, in print. Gardon-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 senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rimes, 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 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 watch’d that it may still go right!
Nay, to be perjur’d, 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:
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.]
ACT IV.
SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park.
[Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS,
ATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER.]
PRINCESS.
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.
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.