Love's Labour's Lost · Act 3, Scene 1

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Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO and MOTH
Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO and MOTH

DON

DON

Adriano De Armado

Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

Adriano De Armado

Sing, child; make my hearing feel the emotion.

Moth

Concolinel.

Moth

Concolinel.

Singing
Singing
Moth

DON

Moth

DON

Adriano De Armado

Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.

Adriano De Armado

Sweet sound! Go, gentle years; take this key, let the young man out, bring him quickly here: I need to send him with a letter to my love.

Moth

Master, will you win your love with a French brawl? DON

Moth

Master, are you going to win your love with a French fight? DON

Adriano De Armado

How meanest thou? brawling in French?

Adriano De Armado

What do you mean? A fight in French?

Moth

No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue’s end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like o’er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin-belly doublet like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of note--do you note me?--that most are affected to these. DON

Moth

No, my perfect master: but to end a tune quickly, dance it with your feet, act it with your eyes, sigh a note and sing a note, sometimes through your throat, as if you swallowed love while singing it, sometimes through your nose, as if you sniffed love by smelling it; with your hat tilted like a roof over your eyes; with your arms crossed like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket like a man in an old painting; and don’t stay too long on one tune, but cut it short and move on. These are gestures, these are moods; they fool innocent girls, who would be tricked without them; and make men of note— do you understand me?—those who are most attracted to these. DON

Adriano De Armado

How hast thou purchased this experience?

Adriano De Armado

How did you learn all this?

Moth

By my penny of observation. DON

Moth

By my penny of observation. DON

Adriano De Armado

But O,--but O,--

Adriano De Armado

But oh, but oh,

Moth

’The hobby-horse is forgot.’ DON

Moth

"The hobby-horse is forgotten." DON

Adriano De Armado

Callest thou my love ’hobby-horse’?

Adriano De Armado

Do you call my love a ’hobby-horse’?

Moth

No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love? DON

Moth

No, master; the hobby-horse is just a young horse, and your love might just be a worn-out one. But have you forgotten your love? DON

Adriano De Armado

Almost I had.

Adriano De Armado

I almost did.

Moth

Negligent student! learn her by heart. DON

Moth

Careless student! Learn it by heart. DON

Adriano De Armado

By heart and in heart, boy.

Adriano De Armado

By heart and in my heart, boy.

Moth

And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove. DON

Moth

And out of heart, master: I’ll prove all three. DON

Adriano De Armado

What wilt thou prove?

Adriano De Armado

What will you prove?

Moth

A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. DON

Moth

A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and out of, all at once: by heart you love her, because you can’t get her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, because you’re sad that you can’t be with her. DON

Adriano De Armado

I am all these three.

Adriano De Armado

I’m all of those three.

Moth

And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. DON

Moth

And three times more than that, and still nothing at all. DON

Adriano De Armado

Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter.

Adriano De Armado

Bring me the young man: he needs to deliver a letter for me.

Moth

A message well sympathized; a horse to be ambassador for an ass. DON

Moth

A well-matched message; sending a horse to carry a fool. DON

Adriano De Armado

Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

Adriano De Armado

Ha, ha! What do you mean?

Moth

Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited. But I go. DON

Moth

Well, sir, you should send the fool on the horse, because he’s really slow. But I’m off. DON

Adriano De Armado

The way is but short: away!

Adriano De Armado

The way is short: go quickly!

Moth

As swift as lead, sir. DON

Moth

As fast as lead, sir. DON

Adriano De Armado

The meaning, pretty ingenious? Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

Adriano De Armado

The meaning, pretty clever? Isn’t lead a metal that’s heavy, dull, and slow?

Moth

Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no. DON

Moth

No, honest master; or rather, master, no. DON

Adriano De Armado

I say lead is slow.

Adriano De Armado

I say lead is slow.

Moth

You are too swift, sir, to say so: Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun? DON

Moth

You are too quick, sir, to say that: Is lead slow if it’s fired from a gun? DON

Adriano De Armado

Sweet smoke of rhetoric! He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that’s he: I shoot thee at the swain.

Adriano De Armado

Sweet words of speech! He thinks I’m a cannon, and the bullet, that’s me: I shoot you at the boy.

Moth

Thump then and I flee.

Moth

Hit me then and I’ll run.

Exit
Exit
Moth

DON

Moth

DON

Adriano De Armado

A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of grace! By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face: Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is return’d.

Adriano De Armado

A very sharp young man; quick-talking and graceful! By your leave, sweet sky, I must sigh right at you: Most rude sadness, courage takes your place. My messenger has returned.

Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD
Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD
Moth

A wonder, master! here’s a costard broken in a shin. DON

Moth

A wonder, master! here’s a head of cabbage broken on the leg. DON

Adriano De Armado

Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy l’envoy; begin.

Adriano De Armado

Some puzzle, some riddle: come on, your message; start.

Costard

No enigma, no riddle, no l’envoy; no salve in the mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! no l’envoy, no l’envoy; no salve, sir, but a plantain! DON

Costard

No puzzle, no riddle, no message; no healing in the mail, sir: Oh, sir, plantain, a simple plantain! no message, no message; no healing, sir, just a plantain! DON

Adriano De Armado

By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l’envoy, and the word l’envoy for a salve?

Adriano De Armado

By goodness, you make me laugh; your foolish thought makes me angry; the rise of my chest forces me to ridiculous smiling. Oh, excuse me, my stars! Does the thoughtless person take healing for a message, and the word message for healing?

Moth

Do the wise think them other? is not l’envoy a salve? DON

Moth

Do the wise think they are different? isn’t a message healing? DON

Adriano De Armado

No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it: The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. There’s the moral. Now the l’envoy.

Adriano De Armado

No, boy: it is an epilogue or speech, to explain Some unclear background that has been said before. I’ll give an example: The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were always arguing, being just three. That’s the lesson. Now the message.

Moth

I will add the l’envoy. Say the moral again. DON

Moth

I’ll add the ending. Say the moral again. DON

Adriano De Armado

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three.

Adriano De Armado

The fox, the monkey, and the bee, Were still in disagreement, being just three.

Moth

Until the goose came out of door, And stay’d the odds by adding four. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l’envoy. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. DON

Moth

Until the goose came out the door, And stopped the fight by adding four. Now I’ll start your moral, and you follow with my ending. The fox, the monkey, and the bee, Were still in disagreement, being just three. DON

Adriano De Armado

Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four.

Adriano De Armado

Until the goose came out the door, Stopping the fight by adding four.

Moth

A good l’envoy, ending in the goose: would you desire more?

Moth

A good ending, finishing with the goose: would you like more?

Costard

The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that’s flat. Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose: Let me see; a fat l’envoy; ay, that’s a fat goose. DON

Costard

The boy has made a deal, a goose, that’s all. Sir, your bargain is good, if your goose is fat. To make a good deal is as tricky as cheating: Let me see; a fat ending; yes, that’s a fat goose. DON

Adriano De Armado

Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?

Adriano De Armado

Come here, come here. How did this argument start?

Moth

By saying that a costard was broken in a shin. Then call’d you for the l’envoy.

Moth

By saying that a "costard" was broken in a shin. Then you called for the ending.

Costard

True, and I for a plantain: thus came your argument in; Then the boy’s fat l’envoy, the goose that you bought; And he ended the market. DON

Costard

True, and I called for a plantain: that’s how your argument began; Then the boy’s fat ending, the goose you bought; And he ended the deal. DON

Adriano De Armado

But tell me; how was there a costard broken in a shin?

Adriano De Armado

But tell me; how was there a "costard" broken in a shin?

Moth

I will tell you sensibly.

Moth

I’ll tell you clearly.

Costard

Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: I will speak that l’envoy: I Costard, running out, that was safely within, Fell over the threshold and broke my shin. DON

Costard

You don’t understand it, Moth: I’ll say the ending: I, Costard, running out, was safely inside, Tripped over the threshold and broke my shin. DON

Adriano De Armado

We will talk no more of this matter.

Adriano De Armado

We won’t talk about this matter anymore.

Costard

Till there be more matter in the shin. DON

Costard

Until there’s more to discuss about the shin. DON

Adriano De Armado

Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.

Adriano De Armado

Sir Costard, I will free you.

Costard

O, marry me to one Frances: I smell some l’envoy, some goose, in this. DON

Costard

Oh, marry me to a woman named Frances: I smell some ending, some goose, in this. DON

Adriano De Armado

By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.

Adriano De Armado

By my sweet soul, I mean setting you free, freeing your body; you were locked up, restrained, trapped, bound.

Costard

True, true; and now you will be my purgation and let me loose. DON

Costard

True, true; and now you’ll be my salvation and set me free. DON

Adriano De Armado

I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this significant

Adriano De Armado

I give you your freedom, release you from confinement; and, instead of that, I ask nothing but this: take this important

Giving a letter
Giving a letter
Adriano De Armado

to the country maid Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; for the best ward of mine honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.

Adriano De Armado

to the country girl Jaquenetta: there’s a reward; for the best way I show my honor is by rewarding those who depend on me. Moth, follow.

Exit
Exit
Moth

Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

Moth

Like the sequel, I. Sir Costard, farewell.

Costard

My sweet ounce of man’s flesh! my incony Jew!

Costard

My sweet little piece of man’s flesh! my silly fool!

Exit MOTH
Exit MOTH
Costard

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that’s the Latin word for three farthings: three farthings--remuneration.--’What’s the price of this inkle?’--’One penny.’--’No, I’ll give you a remuneration:’ why, it carries it. Remuneration! why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word.

Costard

Now I’ll focus on his reward. Reward! Oh, that’s the Latin word for three pennies: three pennies—reward.—’What’s the price of this ribbon?’—’One penny.’—’No, I’ll give you a reward:’ why, it makes sense. Reward! why, it’s a better name than a French crown. I’ll never buy or sell without using this word.

Enter BIRON
Enter BIRON
Biron

O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.

Biron

Oh, my good fellow Costard! so good to see you.

Costard

Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?

Costard

Please, sir, how much carnation ribbon can a man buy for a reward?

Biron

What is a remuneration?

Biron

What’s a reward?

Costard

Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.

Costard

Well, sir, half a penny.

Biron

Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.

Biron

Well, then, three-penny worth of silk.

Costard

I thank your worship: God be wi’ you!

Costard

Thank you, sir: God be with you!

Biron

Stay, slave; I must employ thee: As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

Biron

Wait, you servant; I need to ask something of you: If you want to earn my favor, my good fellow, Do one thing for me that I’ll ask of you.

Costard

When would you have it done, sir?

Costard

When do you want it done, sir?

Biron

This afternoon.

Biron

This afternoon.

Costard

Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well.

Costard

Alright, I’ll do it, sir: goodbye.

Biron

Thou knowest not what it is.

Biron

You don’t even know what it is yet.

Costard

I shall know, sir, when I have done it.

Costard

I’ll know, sir, once I’ve done it.

Biron

Why, villain, thou must know first.

Biron

No, fool, you need to know first.

Costard

I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

Costard

I’ll come to you tomorrow morning.

Biron

It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this: The princess comes to hunt here in the park, And in her train there is a gentle lady; When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, And Rosaline they call her: ask for her; And to her white hand see thou do commend This seal’d-up counsel. There’s thy guerdon; go.

Biron

It has to be done this afternoon. Listen, fool, it’s simple: The princess is coming to hunt in the park, And in her group, there’s a lady; When people speak kindly, they say her name, And they call her Rosaline: ask for her; And make sure you give this sealed message Into her white hand. There’s your reward; go.

Giving him a shilling
Giving him a shilling
Costard

Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration, a’leven-pence farthing better: most sweet gardon! I will do it sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration!

Costard

A reward, oh sweet reward! better than pay, eleven pence better: most sweet reward! I will do it, sir, in writing. Reward! Pay!

Exit
Exit
Biron

And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love’s whip; A very beadle to a humorous sigh; A critic, nay, a night-watch constable; A domineering pedant o’er the boy; Than whom no mortal so magnificent! This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy; This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, Sole imperator and great general Of trotting ’paritors:--O my little heart:-- And I to be a corporal of his field, And wear his colours like a tumbler’s hoop! What, I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife! A woman, that is like a German clock, Still a-repairing, ever out of frame, And never going aright, being a watch, But being watch’d that it may still go right! Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all; And, among three, to love the worst of all; A wightly wanton with a velvet brow, With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes; Ay, and by heaven, one that will do the deed Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard: And I to sigh for her! to watch for her! To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague That Cupid will impose for my neglect Of his almighty dreadful little might. Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan: Some men must love my lady and some Joan.

Biron

And I, truly, am in love! I, who have been love’s whip; A very beadle to a romantic sigh; A critic, no, a night-watchman; A bossy teacher over the boy; There’s no one more magnificent than him! This confused, whining, blind, rebellious boy; This old-young, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Ruler of love poems, lord of crossed arms, The chosen king of sighs and groans, Lord of all lazy people and complainers, Terrifying prince of hidden treasures, king of funny underwear, The sole commander and great general Of running messengers:—Oh my poor little heart:— And I have to be a lowly soldier in his army, And wear his colors like a circus performer’s hoop! What, me! I love! I beg! I’m looking for a wife! A woman, like a German clock, Always needing fixing, always out of order, And never working properly, like a watch, But constantly watched so it stays on track! No, even worse, to be lied to, which is the worst of all; And, of three women, to love the worst of them; A playful flirt with a velvet forehead, With two lumps of coal stuck in her face for eyes; Yes, and by heaven, one who will do the deed Even if Argus were her guardian and her protector: And I’m supposed to sigh for her! Watch for her! Pray for her! Go on; it’s a curse That Cupid will lay on me for ignoring His powerful, terrifying little strength. Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, beg and groan: Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.

Exit
Exit
Biron

LOVE’S LABOURS LOST

Biron

LOVE’S LABOURS LOST

End of Act 3, Scene 1

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