| ACT IV SCENE I | The same. | |
| | Enter the PRINCESS, and her train,
a Forester, BOYET, ROSALINE, MARIA, and KATHARINE. | |
| PRINCESS | Was that the king, that spurred 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. | 5 |
| | 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; | 10 |
| | A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. | |
| PRINCESS | I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, | |
| | And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. | |
| Forester | Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. | |
| PRINCESS | What, what? first praise me and again say no? | 15 |
| | O short-lived pride! Not fair? alack for woe! | |
| Forester | Yes, madam, fair. | |
| PRINCESS | Nay, never paint me now: | |
| | Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. | |
| | Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: | 20 |
| | Fair payment for foul words is more than due. | |
| Forester | Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. | |
| PRINCESS | See see, my beauty will be saved by merit! | |
| | O heresy in fair, fit for these days! | |
| | A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. | 25 |
| | But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill, | |
| | And shooting well is then accounted ill. | |
| | Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: | |
| | Not wounding, pity would not let me do't; | |
| | If wounding, then it was to show my skill, | 30 |
| | That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. | |
| | And out of question so it is sometimes, | |
| | Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, | |
| | When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, | |
| | We bend to that the working of the heart; | 35 |
| | As I for praise alone now seek to spill | |
| | The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. | |
| BOYET | Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty | |
| | Only for praise sake, when they strive to be | |
| | Lords o'er their lords? | 40 |
| PRINCESS | Only for praise: and praise we may afford | |
| | To any lady that subdues a lord. | |
| BOYET | Here comes a member of the commonwealth. | |
| | Enter COSTARD. | |
| COSTARD | God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady? | |
| PRINCESS | Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads. | 45 |
| COSTARD | Which is the greatest lady, the highest? | |
| PRINCESS | The thickest and the tallest. | |
| COSTARD | The thickest and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth. | |
| | An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, | |
| | One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit. | 50 |
| | Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here. | |
| PRINCESS | What's your will, sir? what's your will? | |
| COSTARD | I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one Lady Rosaline. | |
| PRINCESS | O, thy letter, thy letter! he's a good friend of mine: | |
| | Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve; | 55 |
| | Break up this capon. | |
| BOYET | I am bound to serve. | |
| | This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; | |
| | It is writ to Jaquenetta. | |
| PRINCESS | We will read it, I swear. | 60 |
| | Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. | |
| | Reads. | |
| BOYET | 'By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; | |
| | true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that | |
| | thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful | |
| | than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have | 65 |
| | commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The | |
| | magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set | |
| | eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar | |
| | Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, | |
| | Veni, vidi, vici; which to annothanize in the | 70 |
| | vulgar,--O base and obscure vulgar!--videlicet, He | |
| | came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw two; | |
| | overcame, three. Who came? the king: why did he | |
| | come? to see: why did he see? to overcome: to | |
| | whom came he? to the beggar: what saw he? the | 75 |
| | beggar: who overcame he? the beggar. The | |
| | conclusion is victory: on whose side? the king's. | |
| | The captive is enriched: on whose side? the | |
| | beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose | |
| | side? the king's: no, on both in one, or one in | 80 |
| | both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison: | |
| | thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. | |
| | Shall I command thy love? I may: shall I enforce | |
| | thy love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? I | |
| | will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; | 85 |
| | for tittles? titles; for thyself? me. Thus, | |
| | expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, | |
| | my eyes on thy picture. and my heart on thy every | |
| | part. Thine, in the dearest design of industry, | |
| | DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.' | 90 |
| | Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar | |
| | 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey. | |
| | Submissive fall his princely feet before, | |
| | And he from forage will incline to play: | |
| | But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? | 95 |
| | Food for his rage, repasture for his den. | |
| PRINCESS | What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter? | |
| | What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better? | |
| BOYET | I am much deceived but I remember the style. | |
| PRINCESS | Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile. | 100 |
| BOYET | This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court; | |
| | A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport | |
| | To the prince and his bookmates. | |
| PRINCESS | Thou fellow, a word: | |
| | Who gave thee this letter? | 105 |
| COSTARD | I told you; my lord. | |
| PRINCESS | To whom shouldst thou give it? | |
| COSTARD | From my lord to my lady. | |
| PRINCESS | From which lord to which lady? | |
| COSTARD | From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, | 110 |
| | To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline. | |
| PRINCESS | Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away. | |
| | To ROSALINE. | |
| | Here, sweet, put up this: 'twill be thine another day. | |
| | Exeunt PRINCESS and train. | |
| BOYET | Who is the suitor? who is the suitor? | |
| ROSALINE | Shall I teach you to know? | 115 |
| BOYET | Ay, my continent of beauty. | |
| ROSALINE | Why, she that bears the bow. | |
| | Finely put off! | |
| BOYET | My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry, | |
| | Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. | 120 |
| | Finely put on! | |
| ROSALINE | Well, then, I am the shooter. | |
| BOYET | And who is your deer? | |
| ROSALINE | If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near. | |
| | Finely put on, indeed! | 125 |
| MARIA | You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes | |
| | at the brow. | |
| BOYET | But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now? | |
| ROSALINE | Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was | |
| | a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as | 130 |
| | touching the hit it? | |
| BOYET | So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a | |
| | woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little | |
| | wench, as touching the hit it. | |
| ROSALINE | Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, | 135 |
| | Thou canst not hit it, my good man. | |
| BOYET | An I cannot, cannot, cannot, | |
| | An I cannot, another can. | |
| | Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE. | |
| COSTARD | By my troth, most pleasant: how both did fit it! | |
| MARIA | A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it. | 140 |
| BOYET | A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady! | |
| | Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be. | |
| MARIA | Wide o' the bow hand! i' faith, your hand is out. | |
| COSTARD | Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout. | |
| BOYET | An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in. | 145 |
| COSTARD | Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin. | |
| MARIA | Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul. | |
| COSTARD | She's too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl. | |
| BOYET | I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl. | |
| | Exeunt BOYET and MARIA. | |
| COSTARD | By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! | 150 |
| | Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down! | |
| | O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony | |
| | vulgar wit! | |
| | When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it | |
| | were, so fit. | 155 |
| | Armado o' th' one side,--O, a most dainty man! | |
| | To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan! | |
| | To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a' | |
| | will swear! | |
| | And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit! | 160 |
| | Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! | |
| | Sola, sola! | |
| | Shout within. | |
| | Exit COSTARD, running. | |
