William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (155 page)
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Authors: William Shakespeare
Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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4.1
Enter the Princess, a Forester, her ladies-Rosaline, Maria, and Catherine
—
and her lords
,
among them Boyet
Enter Dull, Holofernes the pedant, and Nathaniel the curate
Enter the Princess, a Forester, her ladies-Rosaline, Maria, and Catherine
—
and her lords
,
among them Boyet
PRINCESS
Was that the King that spurred his horse so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?
Against the steep uprising of the hill?
⌈BOYET⌉
I know not, but I think it was not he.
PRINCESS
Whoe’er a was, a showed a mounting mind.
Well, lords, today we shall have our dispatch.
Ere Saturday we will return to France.
Then, forester my friend, where is the bush
That we must stand and play the murderer in?
Well, lords, today we shall have our dispatch.
Ere 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.
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’.
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?
O short-lived pride! Not fair? Alack, for woe !
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.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true.
She gives him money
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.
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,
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,
As I for praise alone now seek to spill
The poor deer’s blood that my heart means no ill.
O heresy in fair, fit for these days—
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
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,
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,
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?
Only for praise’ sake when they strive to be
Lords o’er their lords?
PRINCESS
Only for praise, and praise we may afford
To any lady that subdues a lord.
To any lady that subdues a lord.
Enter Costard the clown
BOYET
Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
COSTARD God dig-you-de’en, all. Pray you, which is the
head lady?
PRINCESS Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.
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.
Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here.
An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit
One o’ these maids’ girdles for your waist should be fit.
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! (
She takes it
) He’s a good friend of mine.
(
To Costard
) Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve.
Break up this capon.
She takes it
) He’s a good friend of mine.
(
To Costard
) Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve.
Break up this capon.
She gives the letter to Boyet
BOYET I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook. It importeth none here.
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
PRINCESS We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and everyone give ear.
BOYET (
reads
) ‘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 commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The magnanimous and most illustrate King Cophetua set’s eye upon the penurious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon, and he it was that might rightly say “Veni, vidi,
vicí”,
which to annothanize in the vulgar—O base and obscure vulgar!—
videlicet
“He came, see, and overcame.” He came, one; see, 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 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 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. 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.
reads
) ‘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 commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The magnanimous and most illustrate King Cophetua set’s eye upon the penurious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon, and he it was that might rightly say “Veni, vidi,
vicí”,
which to annothanize in the vulgar—O base and obscure vulgar!—
videlicet
“He came, see, and overcame.” He came, one; see, 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 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 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. 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.
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?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.’
‘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?
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?
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.
BOYET
This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in court,
A phantasim, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the Prince and his bookmates.
A phantasim, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the Prince and his bookmates.
PRINCESS (
to Costard
) Thou, fellow, a word.
to Costard
) Thou, fellow, a word.
Who gave thee this letter?
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,
To a lady of France that he called Rosaline.
To a lady of France that he called Rosaline.
PRINCESS
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.
(
To Rosaline, giving her the letter
)
Here, sweet, put up this, ‘twill be thine another day.
(
To Rosaline, giving her the letter
)
Here, sweet, put up this, ‘twill be thine another day.
Exit attended
BOYET
Who is the suitor? Who is the suitor?
ROSALINE
Shall I teach you to know?
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.
Finely put on.
Hang me by the neck if horns that year miscarry.
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!
Finely put on indeed!
MARIA
You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
BOYET
But she herself is hit tower—have I hit her now?
ROSALINE Shall I come upon thee with an old saying that was a man when King Pépin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?
BOYET So I may answer thee with one as old that was a woman when Queen Guinevere of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.
ROSALINE (
sings
)
sings
)
Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
BOYET (
sings
)
sings
)
An I cannot, cannot, cannot,An I cannot, another can.Exit Rosaline
COSTARD
By my troth, most pleasant How both did fit it!
MARIA
A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it.
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.
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.
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. Goodnight, my good owl.
Exeunt Boyet, Maria
, ⌈
and Catherine
⌉
COSTARD
By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown.
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!
Armado o‘th’ t’other 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—
Ah heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
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!
Armado o‘th’ t’other 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—
Ah heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
Shout within
Sola, sola!
Exit
4.2Enter Dull, Holofernes the pedant, and Nathaniel the curate
NATHANIEL Very reverend sport, truly, and done in the testimony of a good conscience.
HOLOFERNES The deer was, as you know—
sanguis
—in blood, ripe as the pomewater who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of
caelo
, the sky, the welkin, the heaven, and anon falleth like a crab on the face of
terra
, the soil, the land, the earth.
sanguis
—in blood, ripe as the pomewater who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of
caelo
, the sky, the welkin, the heaven, and anon falleth like a crab on the face of
terra
, the soil, the land, the earth.
NATHANIEL Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least. But, sir, I assure ye it was a buck of the first head.
HOLOFERNES Sir Nathaniel,
haud credo
.
haud credo
.
DULL ‘Twas not a ‘auld grey doe’, ’twas a pricket.
HOLOFERNES Most barbarous intimation! Yet a kind of insinuation, as it were in via, in way, of explication,
facere,
as it were, replication, or rather
ostentare,
to show, as it were, his inclination after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest unconfirmed, fashion, to insert again my
‘haud credo
’ for a deer.
facere,
as it were, replication, or rather
ostentare,
to show, as it were, his inclination after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest unconfirmed, fashion, to insert again my
‘haud credo
’ for a deer.
DULL I said the deer was not a ‘auld grey doe’, ‘twas a pricket.
HOLOFERNES Twice-sod simplicity,
bis coctus
!
bis coctus
!
O thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!
NATHANIEL
Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in
a book.
He hath not eat paper, as it were, he hath not drunk
ink. His intellect is not replenished, he is only an
animal, only sensible in the duller parts,
And such barren plants are set before us that we
thankful should be,
Which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts that
do fructify in us more than he.
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet,
or a fool,
So were there a patch set on learning to see
him
in a
school.
But
omne bene
say I, being of an old father’s mind:
‘Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.’
a book.
He hath not eat paper, as it were, he hath not drunk
ink. His intellect is not replenished, he is only an
animal, only sensible in the duller parts,
And such barren plants are set before us that we
thankful should be,
Which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts that
do fructify in us more than he.
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet,
or a fool,
So were there a patch set on learning to see
him
in a
school.
But
omne bene
say I, being of an old father’s mind:
‘Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.’
DULL
You two are bookmen. Can you tell me by your wit
What was a month old at Cain’s birth that’s not five weeks old as yet?
What was a month old at Cain’s birth that’s not five weeks old as yet?
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