Imatges de pÓgina
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MOTH. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.

Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

COST. True, and I for the plantain: Thus came your argument in;
Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought.

And he ended the market.

ARM. But tell me; how was there a Costard broken in a shin?

MOTH. I will tell you sensibly.

Cost. 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.

ARM. We will talk no more of this matter.

COST. Till there be more matter in the shin.

ARM. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.

COST. O, marry me to one Frances;-I smell some l'envoy, some goose, in this ARM. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.

[Exit.

COST. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me loose. ARM. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: Bear this significant to the country maid Jaquenetta there is remuneration [giving him money]; for the best ward of mine honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. MOTH. Like the sequel, I.-Signor Costard, adieu. COST. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my inconya Jew! 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? a penny:-No, I'll give you a remuneration: why, it carries it.-Remuneration!-why, it is a fairer name than French crown. never buy and sell out of this word.

Enter BIRON.

BIRON. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.

[Exit MOTH.

I will

COST. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remune

ration?

BIRON. What is a remuneration?

COST. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.

BIRON. O, why then, three-farthings-worth of silk.

COST. I thank your worship: God be with you!
BIRON. O, stay, slave; I must employ thee:

As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,

Do one thing for me that I shall entreat

* Incony Jew.—Incony is thought to be the same as the Scotch canny-which is our knowing— cunning. Taking the word in this sense, Jew is, perhaps, Costard's superlative notion of a clever fellow. But Mr. Dyce, following Warburton, explains incony as fine, delicate; and Jew, according to Johnson, was a term of endearment.

COST. When would you have it done, sir?

BIRON. O, this afternoon.

COST. Well, I will do it, sir: Fare you well.

BIRON. O, thou knowest not what it is.

COST. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
BIRON. Why, villain, thou must know first.

COST. 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;

[Gives him money.

And to her white hand see thou do commend This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go. COST. Gardon,-O sweet gardon! better than remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most sweet gardon!—I will do it, sir, in print.-Gardonremuneration 12.

BIRON. O!—And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip;

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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-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 d,

And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop 13!

What! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!

Wimpled-veiled.

[Exit.

The original reading is, “This signior Iunios.” Theobald gave us the reading of senior-junior, as applied to the god "five thousand years a boy."

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Trotting paritors. The paritor, apparitor, is the officer of the ecclesiastical court who carries out citations-often, in old times, against offenders who were prompted by the

"Liege of all loiterers."

A corporal of the field was an officer in some degree resembling our aid-de-camp, according to a passage in 'Lord Strafford's Letters.' But according to Styward's 'Pathway of Martial Discipline,' 1581, of four corporals of the field two had charge of the shot, and two of the pikes and bills.

• We give this line as in the original copies. The modern reading is

"What? ! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!"

Another modern emendation is "What? What?" These correctors cannot conceive of a pause in dramatic metre-the retardation of a verse.

A woman, that is like a German clock 14,
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 whitely 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, groan*;
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.

[Exit.

And groan is the reading of the second folio; and is only wanting to satisfy an ear that considers syllabic regularity the sole principle of metre.

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Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester.

PRIN. 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.

PRIN. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.-
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
That we must stand and play the murtherer in 15 ?
FOR. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;

A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.
PRIN. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,

And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot.
FOR. Pardon, me, madam, for I meant not so.
PRIN. What, what! first praise me, and then a again say no?
O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe!

Then, which is in the folio, is usually omitted.

FOR. Yes, madam, fair.

PRIN.
Nay, never paint me now;
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glassa, take this for telling true;
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
FOR. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
PRIN. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd 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.
BOYET. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be

Lords o'er their lords?

PRIN. Only for praise and praise we may afford
To any lady that subdues a lord.

Enter COSTARD.

BOYET. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

C

[Giving him money.

COST. God dig-you-dend all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

PRIN. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

COST. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

PRIN. The thickest, and the tallest.

COST. 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.

PRIN. What's your will, sir? what's your will?

COST. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline.

Good my glass. The Forester is the metaphorical glass of the Princess.

Curst-shrewish.

Self-sovereignty—used in the same way as self-sufficiency;-not a sovereignty over themselves, but in themselves.

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