The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 299

'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 are thou then?

Food for his rage, repasture for his den.'

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?

What vane? What weatherc.o.c.k? Did you ever hear better?

BOYET. I am much deceived but I remember the style.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile.

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 book-mates.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou fellow, a word.

Who gave thee this letter?

COSTARD. I told you: my lord.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. To whom shouldst thou give it?

COSTARD. From my lord to my lady.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. From which lord to which lady?

COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 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 shooter? who is the shooter?

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!

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!

MARIA. You Still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.

BOYET. But she herself is. .h.i.t 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 touching the hit it?

BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.

ROSALINE. [Singing]

Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, 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.

BOYET. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!

Let the mark have a p.r.i.c.k 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 p.r.i.c.ks, 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!

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 a th' t'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 a t' other side, that handful of wit!

Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!

Sola, sola! Exit COSTARD

SCENE II.

The park

From the shooting within, enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL

NATHANIEL. Very reverent 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.

NATHANIEL. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least; but, sir, I a.s.sure ye it was a buck of the first head.

HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

DULL. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a p.r.i.c.ket.

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 fas.h.i.+on, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.

DULL. I Said the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a p.r.i.c.ket.

HOLOFERNES. Twice-sod simplicity, 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.

DULL. You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit What was a month old at Cain's birth that's not five weeks old as yet?

HOLOFERNES. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.

DULL. What is Dictynna?

NATHANIEL. A t.i.tle to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.

HOLOFERNES. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more, And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score.

Th' allusion holds in the exchange.

DULL. 'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.

HOLOFERNES. G.o.d comfort thy capacity! I say th' allusion holds in the exchange.

DULL. And I say the polusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is never but a month old; and I say, beside, that 'twas a p.r.i.c.ket that the Princess kill'd.

HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call the deer the Princess kill'd a p.r.i.c.ket.

NATHANIEL. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.

HOLOFERNES. I Will something affect the letter, for it argues facility.

The preyful Princess pierc'd and p.r.i.c.k'd a pretty pleasing p.r.i.c.ket.

Some say a sore; but not a sore till now made sore with shooting.

The dogs did yell; put el to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket- Or p.r.i.c.ket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.

If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores o' sorel.

Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.

NATHANIEL. A rare talent!

DULL. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent.

HOLOFERNES. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourish'd in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.

NATHANIEL. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my paris.h.i.+oners; for their sons are well tutor'd by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you. You are a good member of the commonwealth.

HOLOFERNES. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them; but, vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth us.