DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four. MOTH 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.
DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin? MOTH By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.
Then call'd 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.
DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO But tell me; how was there a costard broken in a shin? MOTH 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.
DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO We will talk no more of this matter. COSTARD Till there be more matter in the shin.
DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. COSTARD O, marry me to one Frances: I smell some l'envoy, some goose, in this.
DON ADRIANO DE 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.
DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this significant Giving a letter to the country maid Jaquenetta: 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 BIRON BIRON O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met. COSTARD Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration? BIRON What is a remuneration? COSTARD Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. BIRON Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk. COSTARD I thank your worship: God be wi' you! BIRON 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? BIRON This afternoon. COSTARD Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well. BIRON Thou knowest not what it is. COSTARD I shall know, sir, when I have done it. BIRON Why, villain, thou must know first. COSTARD I will come to your worship to-morrow morning. BIRON 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. There's thy guerdon; go.
Giving him a shilling COSTARD Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration, a'leven-pence farthing better: most sweet gardon!
I
will do it sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration!
Exit BIRON 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 whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;Regent of love-rhymes, 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! 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 perjured, 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 LOVE'S LABOURS LOST