The KING OF NAVARRE'S Park. |
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Enter the KING, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAINE. |
King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, |
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs, |
And then grace us in the disgrace of death; |
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, |
The endeavour of this present breath may buy |
That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, |
And make us heirs of all eternity. |
Therefore, brave conquerors,—for so you are, |
That war against your own affections |
And the huge army of the world's desires,— |
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force: |
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; |
Our court shall be a little academe, |
Still and contemplative in living art. |
You three, Berowne, Dumaine, and Longaville, |
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me, |
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes |
That are recorded in this schedule here: |
Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names, |
That his own hand may strike his honour down |
That violates the smallest branch herein. |
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do, |
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. |
Long. I am resolv'd; 'tis but a three years' fast: |
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: |
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits |
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. |
Dum. My loving lord, Dumaine is mortified: |
The grosser manner of these world's delights |
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves: |
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die; |
With all these living in philosophy. |
Ber. I can but say their protestation over; |
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, |
That is, to live and study here three years. |
But there are other strict observances; |
As, not to see a woman in that term, |
Which I hope well is not enrolled there: |
And one day in a week to touch no food, |
And but one meal on every day beside; |
The which I hope is not enrolled there: |
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, |
And not be seen to wink of all the day,— |
When I was wont to think no harm all night |
And make a dark night too of half the day,— |
Which I hope well is not enrolled there. |
O! these are barren tasks, too hard to keep, |
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. |
King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. |
Ber. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please. |
I only swore to study with your Grace, |
And stay here in your court for three years' space. |
Long. You swore to that, Berowne, and to the rest. |
Ber. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. |
What is the end of study? let me know. |
King. Why, that to know which else we should not know. |
Ber. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense? |
King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. |
Ber. Come on then; I will swear to study so, |
To know the thing I am forbid to know; |
As thus: to study where I well may dine, |
When I to feast expressly am forbid; |
Or study where to meet some mistress fine, |
When mistresses from common sense are hid; |
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, |
Study to break it, and not break my troth. |
If study's gain be thus, and this be so, |
Study knows that which yet it doth not know. |
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. |
King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, |
And train our intellects to vain delight. |
Ber. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain |
Which, with pain purchas'd doth inherit pain: |
As, painfully to pore upon a book, |
To seek the light of truth; while truth the while |
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look: |
Light seeking light doth light of light beguile: |
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, |
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. |
Study me how to please the eye indeed, |
By fixing it upon a fairer eye, |
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, |
And give him light that it was blinded by. |
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, |
That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks; |
Small have continual plodders ever won, |
Save base authority from others' books. |
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights |
That give a name to every fixed star, |
Have no more profit of their shining nights |
Than those that walk and wot not what they are. |
Too much to know is to know nought but fame; |
And every godfather can give a name. |
King. How well he's read, to reason against reading! |
Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding! |
Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding. |
Ber. The spring is near, when green geese are a-breeding. |
Dum. How follows that? |
Ber. Fit in his place and time. |
Dum. In reason nothing. |
Ber. Something then, in rime. |
King. Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost |
That bites the first-born infants of the spring. |
Ber. Well, say I am: why should proud summer boast |
Before the birds have any cause to sing? |
Why should I joy in an abortive birth? |
At Christmas I no more desire a rose |
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; |
But like of each thing that in season grows. |
So you, to study now it is too late, |
Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. |
King. Well, sit you out: go home, Berowne: adieu! |
Ber. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you: |
And though I have for barbarism spoke more |
Than for that angel knowledge you can say, |
Yet confident I'll keep to what I swore, |
And bide the penance of each three years' day. |
Give me the paper; let me read the same; |
And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name. |
King. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame! |
Ber. Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of my court.Hath this been proclaimed? |
Long. Four days ago. |
Ber. Let's see the penalty. On pain of losing her tongue. Who devised this penalty? |
Long. Marry, that did I. |
Ber. Sweet lord, and why? |
Long. To fright them hence with that dread penalty. |
Ber. A dangerous law against gentility! Item. If any man be seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise. |
This article, my liege, yourself must break; |
For well you know here comes in embassy |
The French king's daughter with yourself to speak— |
A maid of grace and complete majesty— |
About surrender up of Aquitaine |
To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: |
Therefore this article is made in vain, |
Or vainly comes th' admired princess hither. |
King. What say you, lords? why, this was quite forgot. |
Ber. So study evermore is overshot: |
While it doth study to have what it would, |
It doth forget to do the thing it should; |
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, |
'Tis won as towns with fire; so won, so lost. |
King. We must of force dispense with this decree; |
She must lie here on mere necessity. |
Ber. Necessity will make us all forsworn |
Three thousand times within this three years' space; |
For every man with his affects is born, |
Not by might master'd, but by special grace. |
If I break faith this word shall speak for me, |
I am forsworn 'on mere necessity.' |
So to the laws at large I write my name: [Subscribes. |
And he that breaks them in the least degree |
Stands in attainder of eternal shame: |
Suggestions are to others as to me; |
But I believe, although I seem so loath, |
I am the last that will last keep his oath. |
But is there no quick recreation granted? |
King. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted |
With a refined traveller of Spain; |
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, |
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain; |
One whom the music of his own vain tongue |
Doth ravish like enchanting harmony; |
A man of complements, whom right and wrong |
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny: |
This child of fancy, that Armado hight, |
For interim to our studies shall relate |
In high-born words the worth of many a knight |
From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate. |
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I; |
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie, |
And I will use him for my minstrelsy. |
Ber. Armado is a most illustrious wight, |
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. |
Long. Costard the swain and he shall be our sport; |
And, so to study, three years is but short. |
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Enter DULL, with a letter, and COSTARD. |
Dull. Which is the duke's own person? |
Ber. This, fellow. What wouldst? |
Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his Grace's tharborough: but I would see his own person in flesh and blood. |
Ber. This is he. |
Dull. Signior Arm—Arm—commends you. There's villany abroad: this letter will tell you more. |
Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. |
King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. |
Ber. How long soever the matter, I hope in God for high words. |
Long. A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience! |
Ber. To hear, or forbear laughing? |
Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or to forbear both. |
Ber. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb in the merriness. |
Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner. |
Ber. In what manner? |
Cost. In manner and form following, sir; all those three: I was seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken following her into the park; which, put together, is, in manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner,—it is the manner of a man to speak to a woman, for the form,—in some form. |
Ber. For the following, sir? |
Cost. As it shall follow in my correction; and God defend the right! |
King. Will you hear this letter with attention? |
Ber. As we would hear an oracle. |
Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. |
King. Great deputy, the welkin's vicegerent, and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's God, and body's fostering patron, |
Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. |
King. So it is,— |
Cost. It may be so; but if he say it is so, he is, in telling true, but so.— |
King. Peace! |
Cost. Be to me and every man that dares not fight. |
King. No words! |
Cost. Of other men's secrets, I beseech you. |
King. So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, I did commend the black-oppressing humour to the most wholesome physic of thy health-giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk. The time when? About the sixth hour; when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper: so much for the time when. Now for the ground which; which, I mean, I walked upon: it is ycleped thy park. Then for the place where; where, I mean, I did encounter that most obscene and preposterous event, that draweth from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest. But to the place where, it standeth north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted garden: there did I see that low-spirited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth,— |
Cost. Me. |
King. that unlettered small-knowing soul,— |
Cost. Me. |
King. that shallow vessel,— |
Cost. Still me. |
King. which, as I remember, hight Costard,— |
Cost. O me. |
King. sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed edict and continent canon, with—with,—O! with but with this I passion to say wherewith,— |
Cost. With a wench. |
King. with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman. Him, I,—as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me on,—have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, by thy sweet Grace's officer, Antony Dull; a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation. |
Dull. Me, an 't please you; I am Antony Dull. |
King. For Jaquenetta,—so is the weaker vessel called which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain,—I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty, DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. |
Ber. This is not so well as I looked for, but the best that ever I heard. |
King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to this? |
Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. |
King. Did you hear the proclamation? |
Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it. |
King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment to be taken with a wench. |
Cost. I was taken with none, sir: I was taken with a damosel. |
King. Well, it was proclaimed 'damosel.' |
Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir: she was a 'virgin.' |
King. It is so varied too; for it was proclaimed 'virgin.' |
Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with a maid. |
King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. |
Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. |
King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast a week with bran and water. |
Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. |
King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. |
My Lord Berowne, see him deliver'd o'er: |
And go we, lords, to put in practice that |
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. [Exeunt KING, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAINE. |
Ber. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, |
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. |
Sirrah, come on. |
Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir: for true it is I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow! [Exeunt. |
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