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Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits: Consider who the king your father sends, To whom he sends, and what’s his embassy: Yourself, held precious in the world’s esteem, To parley with the sole inheritor Of all perfections that a man may owe, Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen. Be now as prodigal of all dear grace As Nature was in making graces dear When she did starve the general world beside And prodigally gave them all to you.
Now, madam, gather up all your courage: Think about who the king, your father, is sending, To whom he’s sending, and what message he has: You, considered precious by the world’s standards, Are going to speak with the sole heir Of all the greatness a man can have, The unmatched Navarre; the importance of your mission Is as great as Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen. Be as generous with all your grace As Nature was when she made graces precious And left the rest of the world wanting, Giving them all to you.
Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise: Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye, Not utter’d by base sale of chapmen’s tongues: I am less proud to hear you tell my worth Than you much willing to be counted wise In spending your wit in the praise of mine. But now to task the tasker: good Boyet, You are not ignorant, all-telling fame Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, Till painful study shall outwear three years, No woman may approach his silent court: Therefore to’s seemeth it a needful course, Before we enter his forbidden gates, To know his pleasure; and in that behalf, Bold of your worthiness, we single you As our best-moving fair solicitor. Tell him, the daughter of the King of France, On serious business, craving quick dispatch, Importunes personal conference with his grace: Haste, signify so much; while we attend, Like humble-visaged suitors, his high will.
Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though simple, Doesn’t need all your fancy praise: Beauty is judged by the eye, Not spoken by the empty chatter of merchants: I’d rather not hear you tell me how great I am Than hear you gladly show off your wisdom By praising mine. But now to challenge the one who challenges: good Boyet, You know, as well as anyone, that rumors spread far and wide, That Navarre has made a vow, That until hard study wears out three years, No woman may enter his silent court: So it seems necessary, Before we enter his restricted gates, To know what he thinks; and for that purpose, Confident in your abilities, we choose you As our best messenger and advocate. Tell him, the daughter of the King of France, On urgent business, asking for quick action, Pleads for a personal meeting with him: Hurry, let him know, while we wait, Like respectful petitioners, for his high decision.
Proud of employment, willingly I go.
Proud of the task, I go willingly.
All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.
All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.
Who are the votaries, my loving lords, That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?
Who are the people, my dear lords, Who are pledged to this noble duke?
Lord Longaville is one.
Lord Longaville is one.
Know you the man?
Do you know him?
I know him, madam: at a marriage-feast, Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized In Normandy, saw I this Longaville: A man of sovereign parts he is esteem’d; Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms: Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. The only soil of his fair virtue’s gloss, If virtue’s gloss will stain with any soil, Is a sharp wit matched with too blunt a will; Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills It should none spare that come within his power.
I know him, madam: at a wedding feast, Between Lord Perigort and the beautiful heir Of Jaques Falconbridge, held in Normandy, I saw this Longaville: He is regarded as a man of great ability; Skilled in arts, glorious in battle: Nothing seems out of place for him that he does well. The only flaw in his perfect character, If perfection can be flawed at all, Is a sharp mind paired with a too stubborn will; His mind can cut through anything, but his will Never gives in, and shows no mercy to those he controls.
Some merry mocking lord, belike; is’t so?
Some playful, mocking lord, I suppose; is that right?
They say so most that most his humours know.
That’s what most people say, who know him best.
Such short-lived wits do wither as they grow. Who are the rest?
Such quick-witted people fade as they get older. Who else is there?
The young Dumain, a well-accomplished youth, Of all that virtue love for virtue loved: Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill; For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, And shape to win grace though he had no wit. I saw him at the Duke Alencon’s once; And much too little of that good I saw Is my report to his great worthiness.
The young Dumain, a well-accomplished youth, Loved by all who love virtue: He has the power to do harm, but no knowledge of evil; For he has the wit to make any bad thing seem good, And the looks to win grace, even if he had no wit. I saw him once at Duke Alencon’s, And much too little of the good I saw Is reflected in my description of his great worth.
Another of these students at that time Was there with him, if I have heard a truth. Biron they call him; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour’s talk withal: His eye begets occasion for his wit; For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth-moving jest, Which his fair tongue, conceit’s expositor, Delivers in such apt and gracious words That aged ears play truant at his tales And younger hearings are quite ravished; So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
One of these students was there at that time, If I’ve heard correctly. They call him Biron, but I’ve never met a happier man, Within the limits of acceptable fun, I’ve never spent a better hour with anyone: His eye sparks ideas for his wit; For everything that one sees, The other turns into a funny joke, Which his charming tongue, the interpreter of his thoughts, Delivers in such clever and graceful words That older listeners forget themselves at his stories And younger ears are completely captivated; His talk is so sweet and smooth.
God bless my ladies! are they all in love, That every one her own hath garnished With such bedecking ornaments of praise?
God bless my ladies! Are they all in love, That each one has dressed up her own with Such glowing compliments?
Here comes Boyet.
Here comes Boyet.
Now, what admittance, lord?
So, what’s the news, lord?
Navarre had notice of your fair approach; And he and his competitors in oath Were all address’d to meet you, gentle lady, Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt: He rather means to lodge you in the field, Like one that comes here to besiege his court, Than seek a dispensation for his oath, To let you enter his unpeopled house. Here comes Navarre.
Navarre knew about your arrival; And he and his fellow oath-takers Were all prepared to meet you, gentle lady, Before I got here. But here’s what I’ve learned: He’d rather have you stay in the open field, Like someone coming to lay siege to his court, Than break his oath to let you into his empty house. Here comes Navarre.
Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.
Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.
’Fair’ I give you back again; and ’welcome’ I have not yet: the roof of this court is too high to be yours; and welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine.
‘Fair,’ I return to you, and ‘welcome’ I haven’t yet: The roof of this court is too grand to be Yours, and welcome to the wide fields is too humble to be mine.
You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.
You will be welcome, madam, to my court.
I will be welcome, then: conduct me thither.
Then I will be welcome: please, lead me there.
Hear me, dear lady; I have sworn an oath.
Listen, dear lady; I’ve taken an oath.
Our Lady help my lord! he’ll be forsworn.
Our Lady help my lord! He’ll break his oath.
Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.
Not for the world, fair madam, not by my will.
Why, will shall break it; will and nothing else.
Well, his will will break it; will and nothing else.
Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.
Your ladyship doesn’t know what it means.
Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping: Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, And sin to break it. But pardon me. I am too sudden-bold: To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, And suddenly resolve me in my suit.
If my lord were like that, his ignorance would be wise, But now his knowledge will only show his ignorance. I hear that you have sworn off housekeeping, It’s a deadly sin to keep that promise, my lord, And a sin to break it. But forgive me. I am too bold too quickly: It’s not right for me to teach someone who teaches. Please read the reason I’ve come, And quickly decide what you will do about my request.
Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.
Madam, I will, if I can do so quickly.
You will the sooner, that I were away; For you’ll prove perjured if you make me stay.
You’ll do it sooner if I leave; For you’ll be lying if you make me stay.
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
Didn’t I dance with you in Brabant once?
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
Didn’t I dance with you in Brabant once?
I know you did.
I know you did.
How needless was it then to ask the question!
How unnecessary it was to ask that question!
You must not be so quick.
You shouldn’t be so quick to answer.
’Tis ’long of you that spur me with such questions.
It’s your fault for pushing me with such questions.
Your wit’s too hot, it speeds too fast, ’twill tire.
Your wit is too sharp, it’s too fast, it will wear you out.
Not till it leave the rider in the mire.
Not until it leaves the rider stuck in the mud.
What time o’ day?
What time of day is it?
The hour that fools should ask.
The time when fools should ask.
Now fair befall your mask!
Well, good luck with your mask!
Fair fall the face it covers!
Good luck to the face beneath it!
And send you many lovers!
And may you have many admirers!
Amen, so you be none.
Amen, as long as you’re not.
Nay, then will I be gone.
Well, then I’ll leave.
Madam, your father here doth intimate The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; Being but the one half of an entire sum Disbursed by my father in his wars. But say that he or we, as neither have, Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which, One part of Aquitaine is bound to us, Although not valued to the money’s worth. If then the king your father will restore But that one half which is unsatisfied, We will give up our right in Aquitaine, And hold fair friendship with his majesty. But that, it seems, he little purposeth, For here he doth demand to have repaid A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, To have his title live in Aquitaine; Which we much rather had depart withal And have the money by our father lent Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is. Dear Princess, were not his requests so far From reason’s yielding, your fair self should make A yielding ’gainst some reason in my breast And go well satisfied to France again.
Madam, your father here suggests The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; Which is only half of a full amount Spent by my father in his wars. But let’s say he or we, since neither of us have, Received that money, yet there’s still a hundred thousand left unpaid; As security for that, one part of Aquitaine is pledged to us, Even though it’s not worth the full amount. If your father, the king, will give back The half that’s still unpaid, We’ll give up our claim to Aquitaine, And maintain good friendship with his majesty. But it seems he has no intention of that, For here he’s demanding repayment Of a hundred thousand crowns; and not just asking, But demanding payment of a hundred thousand crowns, In exchange for his title in Aquitaine; Which we’d much rather lose And get the money back that our father lent Than keep Aquitaine in its current state. Dear Princess, if his requests weren’t so unreasonable, You yourself would make A concession to some reason in my heart And be well satisfied to return to France.
You do the king my father too much wrong And wrong the reputation of your name, In so unseeming to confess receipt Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.
You’re doing my father too much injustice And damaging your own reputation, By wrongly admitting you received The money that has been so faithfully paid.
I do protest I never heard of it; And if you prove it, I’ll repay it back Or yield up Aquitaine.
I swear I never heard of it; And if you prove it, I’ll pay it back Or give up Aquitaine.
We arrest your word. Boyet, you can produce acquittances For such a sum from special officers Of Charles his father.
We hold you to your word. Boyet, you can produce receipts For that amount from Charles’s father’s officials.
Satisfy me so.
Show me that proof.
So please your grace, the packet is not come Where that and other specialties are bound: To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.
If it pleases your grace, the packet hasn’t arrived Where the documents and other details are kept: Tomorrow you’ll see them.
It shall suffice me: at which interview All liberal reason I will yield unto. Meantime receive such welcome at my hand As honour without breach of honour may Make tender of to thy true worthiness: You may not come, fair princess, in my gates; But here without you shall be so received As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart, Though so denied fair harbour in my house. Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell: To-morrow shall we visit you again.
That will be enough for me: at that meeting, I’ll agree to whatever reasonable solution. In the meantime, accept this welcome from me, As much as honor allows without breaking it In offering it to your true worthiness: You may not enter, fair princess, through my gates; But here, outside, you’ll be received As though you were lodged in my heart, Even though you’re denied a proper place in my house. May your own thoughts forgive me, and farewell: Tomorrow we’ll visit you again.
Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace!
Sweet health and fair wishes accompany your grace!
Thy own wish wish I thee in every place!
I wish you the same, wherever you may be!
Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.
Lady, I will commend you to my heart.
Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it.
Please do, I’d love to see it.
I would you heard it groan.
I wish you could hear it groan.
Is the fool sick?
Is the fool sick?
Sick at the heart.
I’m heartbroken.
Alack, let it blood.
Oh no, let it bleed.
Would that do it good?
Will that help?
My physic says ’ay.’
My doctor says yes.
Will you prick’t with your eye?
Are you going to stab it with your eyes?
No point, with my knife.
No, with my knife.
Now, God save thy life!
Well, God keep you alive!
And yours from long living!
And may you live a long life!
I cannot stay thanksgiving.
I can’t stay to thank you.
Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?
Sir, may I ask, who is that lady?
The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name.
She’s the heiress of Alencon, her name is Katharine.
A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.
A noble lady. Goodbye, sir.
I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?
Please, a word—who is the lady in white?
A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.
She’s a woman, if you saw her in the light.
Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.
Maybe it’s just a passing glance. I want to know her name.
She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.
She only has one name, and asking for more would be inappropriate.
Pray you, sir, whose daughter?
Please, sir, whose daughter is she?
Her mother’s, I have heard.
I’ve heard she’s her mother’s daughter.
God’s blessing on your beard!
Bless you for your beard!
Good sir, be not offended. She is an heir of Falconbridge.
Sir, please don’t be offended. She’s the heir of Falconbridge.
Nay, my choler is ended. She is a most sweet lady.
No, my anger is over. She’s a very sweet lady.
Not unlike, sir, that may be.
She’s probably very sweet, sir.
What’s her name in the cap?
What’s her name on the list?
Rosaline, by good hap.
Rosaline, luckily.
Is she wedded or no?
Is she married or not?
To her will, sir, or so.
She’s married according to her own wishes, or so they say.
You are welcome, sir: adieu.
You’re welcome, sir. Goodbye.
Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
That last is Biron, the merry madcap lord: Not a word with him but a jest.
That last one is Biron, the cheerful crazy lord: He only speaks in jokes.
And every jest but a word.
And every joke is just a word.
It was well done of you to take him at his word.
It was clever of you to take him literally.
I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.
I was just as eager to get into it as he was to start the fun.
Two hot sheeps, marry.
Two fiery fools, good heavens.
And wherefore not ships? No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.
And why not ships? No sheep, sweet thing, unless we feast on your kisses.
You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish the jest?
You’re the sheep, and I’m the pasture: is that how the joke ends?
So you grant pasture for me.
So you’ll give me pasture, then.
Not so, gentle beast: My lips are no common, though several they be.
Not so, gentle animal: My lips are not for the taking, though they are separate.
Belonging to whom?
Belonging to whom?
To my fortunes and me.
They belong to my future and to me.
Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree: This civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his book-men; for here ’tis abused.
Good minds will keep arguing; but, friends, settle down: This back-and-forth of wits would be better spent On Navarre and his scholars; here, it’s just a waste.
If my observation, which very seldom lies, By the heart’s still rhetoric disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.
If my judgment, which rarely fails, And the silent language of the heart revealed through the eyes, Is not wrong, Navarre is in love.
With what?
With what?
With that which we lovers entitle affected.
With what we lovers call being "in love."
Your reason?
Why?
Why, all his behaviors did make their retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire: His heart, like an agate, with your print impress’d, Proud with his form, in his eye pride express’d: His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be; All senses to that sense did make their repair, To feel only looking on fairest of fair: Methought all his senses were lock’d in his eye, As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; Who, tendering their own worth from where they were glass’d, Did point you to buy them, along as you pass’d: His face’s own margent did quote such amazes That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes. I’ll give you Aquitaine and all that is his, An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Well, all of his actions made him retreat To the court of his eye, looking through desire: His heart, like a gemstone, marked with your image, Proud of his looks, his eyes showing his pride: His tongue, eager to speak but unable to see, Stumbled with urgency to be in his sight; All his senses turned toward that sense, To feel only by looking at the fairest of fair: It seemed like all his senses were locked in his eye, Like jewels in crystal waiting for a prince to buy; Who, showing their value from where they were displayed, Pointed you to buy them as you passed: His face’s own edges made such a stunning impression That all eyes saw his eyes captivated by gazes. I’ll give you Aquitaine and everything he has, If you give him just one loving kiss for my sake.
Come to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed.
Come to our tent: Boyet is ready.
But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclosed. I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
But to put into words what his eyes have shown. I’ve only made a mouth for his eye, By adding a tongue, which I know won’t lie.
Thou art an old love-monger and speakest skilfully.
You’re an old love-peddler and speak so cleverly.
He is Cupid’s grandfather and learns news of him.
He’s Cupid’s grandfather and hears news about him.
Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.
Then Venus must have been like her mother, since her father is so grim.
Do you hear, my mad wenches?
Do you hear, my crazy girls?
No.
No.
What then, do you see?
What then, do you see?
Ay, our way to be gone.
Yes, we are ready to leave.
You are too hard for me.
You’re too much for me.
LOVE’S LABOURS LOST
LOVE’S LABOURS LOST