William Shakespeare - Ultimate Collection: Complete Plays & Poetry in One Volume. William Shakespeare

DUMAINE.

       Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?

       BOYET.

       The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name.

       DUMAINE.

       A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well.

       [Exit.]

       LONGAVILLE.

       I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?

       BOYET.

       A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.

       LONGAVILLE.

       Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.

       BOYET.

       She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.

       LONGAVILLE.

       Pray you, sir, whose daughter?

       BOYET.

       Her mother’s, I have heard.

       LONGAVILLE.

       God’s blessing on your beard!

       BOYET.

       Good sir, be not offended.

       She is an heir of Falconbridge.

       LONGAVILLE.

       Nay, my choler is ended.

       She is a most sweet lady.

       BOYET.

       Not unlike, sir; that may be.

       [Exit LONGAVILLE.]

       BEROWNE.

       What’s her name in the cap?

       BOYET.

       Rosaline, by good hap.

       BEROWNE.

       Is she wedded or no?

       BOYET.

       To her will, sir, or so.

       BEROWNE.

       You are welcome, sir. Adieu!

       BOYET.

       Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.

       [Exit BEROWNE.—LADIES unmask.]

       MARIA.

       That last is Berowne, the merry mad-cap lord;

       Not a word with him but a jest.

       BOYET.

       And every jest but a word.

       PRINCESS.

       It was well done of you to take him at his word.

       BOYET.

       I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.

       MARIA.

       Two hot sheeps, marry!

       BOYET.

       And wherefore not ships?

       No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.

       MARIA.

       You sheep and I pasture: shall that finish the jest?

       BOYET.

       So you grant pasture for me.

       [Offering to kiss her.]

       MARIA.

       Not so, gentle beast.

       My lips are no common, though several they be.

       BOYET.

       Belonging to whom?

       MARIA.

       To my fortunes and me.

       PRINCESS.

       Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree;

       This civil war of wits were much better us’d

       On Navarre and his book-men, for here ‘tis abus’d.

       BOYET.

       If my observation,—which very seldom lies,

       By the heart’s still rhetoric disclosed with eyes,

       Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

       PRINCESS.

       With what?

       BOYET.

       With that which we lovers entitle affected.

       PRINCESS.

       Your reason.

       BOYET.

       Why, all his behaviours did make their retire

       To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire;

       His heart, like an agate, with your print impress’d,

       Proud with his form, in his eye pride express’d;

       His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,

       Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;

       All senses to that sense did make their repair,

       To feel only looking on fairest of fair.

       Methought all his senses were lock’d in his eye,

       As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;

       Who, tend’ring their own worth from where they were glass’d,

       Did point you to buy them, along as you pass’d.

       His face’s own margent did quote such amazes

       That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.

       I’ll give you Aquitaine, and all that is his,

       An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.

       PRINCESS.

       Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos’d.

       BOYET.

       But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos’d.

       I only have made a mouth of his eye,

       By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.

       ROSALINE.

       Thou art an old love-monger, and speak’st skilfully.

       MARIA.

       He is Cupid’s grandfather, and learns news of him.

       ROSALINE.

       Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim.

       BOYET.

       Do you hear, my mad wenches?

       MARIA.

       No.

       BOYET.

       What, then, do you see?

       ROSALINE.

       Ay, our way to be gone.

       BOYET.

       You are too hard for me.

       [Exeunt.]

       ACT III.

      SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park.

       [Enter ARMADO and MOTH.]

       ARMADO.

       Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

       MOTH [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.

       MOTH.

       Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?

       ARMADO.

       How meanest thou? brawling in French?

       MOTH. 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