Loves Labours Lost | Page 7

such a piece of study? Now here's three
studied ere ye'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put 'years' to the
word 'three,' and study three years in two words, the dancing horse will
tell you.
ARMADO. A most fine figure!
MOTH. [Aside] To prove you a cipher.
ARMADO. I will hereupon confess I am in love; and as it is base for a
soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing my sword
against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate
thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and ransom him to any
French courtier for a new-devised curtsy. I think scorn to sigh:
methinks I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy: what great men
have been in love?
MOTH. Hercules, master.
ARMADO. Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name
more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and
carriage.
MOTH. Samson, master: he was a man of good carriage, great carriage,
for he carried the town gates on his back like a porter; and he was in
love.
ARMADO. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do excel
thee in my rapier as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in
love too. Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth?
MOTH. A woman, master.
ARMADO. Of what complexion?

MOTH. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.
ARMADO. Tell me precisely of what complexion.
MOTH. Of the sea-water green, sir.
ARMADO. Is that one of the four complexions?
MOTH. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.
ARMADO. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love of
that colour, methinks Samson had small reason for it. He surely
affected her for her wit.
MOTH. It was so, sir, for she had a green wit.
ARMADO. My love is most immaculate white and red.
MOTH. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such
colours.
ARMADO. Define, define, well-educated infant.
MOTH. My father's wit my mother's tongue assist me!
ARMADO. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and pathetical!
MOTH. If she be made of white and red, Her faults will ne'er be known;
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, And fears by pale white shown.
Then if she fear, or be to blame, By this you shall not know, For still
her cheeks possess the same Which native she doth owe. A dangerous
rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red.
ARMADO. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?
MOTH. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages
since; but I think now 'tis not to be found; or if it were, it would neither
serve for the writing nor the tune.
ARMADO. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may example
my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country
girl that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard: she deserves
well.
MOTH. [Aside] To be whipped; and yet a better love than my master.
ARMADO. Sing, boy: my spirit grows heavy in love.
MOTH. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.
ARMADO. I say, sing.
MOTH. Forbear till this company be past.
[Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA.]
DULL. Sir, the Duke's pleasure is, that you keep Costard safe: and you
must suffer him to take no delight nor no penance; but a' must fast three
days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at the park; she is

allowed for the day-woman. Fare you well.
ARMADO. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid!
JAQUENETTA. Man?
ARMADO. I will visit thee at the lodge.
JAQUENETTA. That's hereby.
ARMADO. I know where it is situate.
JAQUENETTA. Lord, how wise you are!
ARMADO. I will tell thee wonders.
JAQUENETTA. With that face?
ARMADO. I love thee.
JAQUENETTA. So I heard you say.
ARMADO. And so, farewell.
JAQUENETTA. Fair weather after you!
DULL. Come, Jaquenetta, away!
[Exit with JAQUENETTA.]
ARMADO. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be
pardoned.
COSTARD. Well, sir, I hope when I do it I shall do it on a full
stomach.
ARMADO. Thou shalt be heavily punished.
COSTARD. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but
lightly rewarded.
ARMADO. Take away this villain: shut him up.
MOTH. Come, you transgressing slave: away!
COSTARD. Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast, being loose.
MOTH. No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt to prison.
COSTARD. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I
have seen, some shall see--
MOTH. What shall some see?
COSTARD. Nay, nothing, Master