A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy : King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. No face is fair that is not full so black. The hue of dungeons, and the stole (6) of night; And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light. O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, It mourns that painting and(64) usurping hair Should ravish doters with a false aspéct; And therefore is she born to make black fair. Her favour turns the fashion of the days, For native blood is counted painting now; Long. And since her time are colliers counted bright. For fear their colours should be wash'd away. King. 'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain, I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. Long. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her face see. Biron. O, if the streets were pavèd with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread! Dum. O vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies The street should see as she walk'd overhead. King. But what of this? are we not all in love? Biron. O, nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn. Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. Biron. And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, Above their functions and their offices. Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste: Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; For charity itself fulfils the law, And who can sever love from charity? King. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field! Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advis'd, In conflict that you get the sun of them. Long. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by: Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? King. And win them too: therefore let us devise Some entertainment for them in their tents. Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them thither; Then homeward every man attach the hand Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon We will with some strange pastime solace them, For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. A part of the park. Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL. Hol. Satis quod sufficit. Nath. I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam day with a companion of the king's, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado. Hol. Novi hominem tanquam te: his humour is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it. Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. [Takes out his table-book. Hol. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-devise companions; such rackers of orthography, as to speak dout, fine, when he should say doubt; det, when he should pronounce debt,—d, e, b, t, not d, e, t: he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebour; neigh abbreviated ne. This is abhominable,—which he would call abominable: it insinuateth me (69) of insanie; ne intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic. Nath. Laus Deo, bone intelligo. Hol. Bone!-bone for bene: Priscian a little scratched; 'twill serve. Nath. Videsne quis venit? Hol. Video, et gaudeo. Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD. Arm. Chirrah! Hol. Quare chirrah, not sirrah? Arm. Men of peace, well encountered. Hol. Most military sir, salutation. [To Moth. Moth [to Costard, aside]. They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps. Cost. O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word; for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. Moth. Peace! the peal begins. Arm. [to Hol.] Monsieur, are you not lettered? Moth. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the horn-book.-What is a, b, spelt backward, with the horn on his head? Hol. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn.-You hear his learning. Hol. Quis, quis, thou consonant? Moth. The third (70) of the five vowels, if you repeat them; or the fifth, if I. Hol. I will repeat them,-a, e, i,— Moth. The sheep: the other two concludes it,-o, u. Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch, a quick venue of wit,-snip, snap, quick and home! it rejoiceth my intellect: true wit! |