Love's Labour's Lost · Chapter 3Part 3
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Nath. A rare talent
Dul. If a talent be a claw, looke how he clawes him with a talent
Nath. This is a gift that I haue simple: simple, a foolish extrauagant spirit, full of formes, figures, shapes, obiects, Ideas, apprehensions, motions, reuolutions. These are begot in the ventricle of memorie, nourisht in the wombe of primater, and deliuered vpon the mellowing of occasion: but the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankfull for it
Hol. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my parishioners, for their Sonnes are well tutor'd by you, and their Daughters profit very greatly vnder you: you are a good member of the common-wealth
Nath. Me hercle, If their Sonnes be ingenuous, they shall want no instruction: If their Daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But Vir sapis qui pauca loquitur, a soule Feminine saluteth vs. Enter Iaquenetta and the Clowne.
Iaqu. God giue you good morrow M[aster]. Person
Nath. Master Person, quasi Person? And if one should be perst, Which is the one? Clo. Marry M[aster]. Schoolemaster, hee that is likest to a hogshead
Nath. Of persing a Hogshead, a good luster of conceit in a turph of Earth, Fire enough for a Flint, Pearle enough for a Swine: 'tis prettie, it is well
Iaqu. Good Master Parson be so good as reade mee this Letter, it was giuen mee by Costard, and sent mee from Don Armatho: I beseech you read it
Nath. Facile precor gellida, quando pecas omnia sub vmbra ruminat, and so forth. Ah good old Mantuan, I may speake of thee as the traueiler doth of Venice, vemchie, vencha, que non te vnde, que non te perreche. Old Mantuan, old Mantuan. Who vnderstandeth thee not, vt re sol la mi fa: Vnder pardon sir, What are the contents? or rather as Horrace sayes in his, What my soule verses
Hol. I sir, and very learned
Nath. Let me heare a staffe, a stanze, a verse, Lege domine. If Loue make me forsworne, how shall I sweare to loue? Ah neuer faith could hold, if not to beautie vowed. Though to my selfe forsworn, to thee Ile faithfull proue. Those thoughts to mee were Okes, to thee like Osiers bowed. Studie his byas leaues, and makes his booke thine eyes. Where all those pleasures liue, that Art would comprehend. If knowledge be the marke, to know thee shall suffice. Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee co[m]mend. All ignorant that soule, that sees thee without wonder. Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire; Thy eye Ioues lightning beares, thy voyce his dreadfull thunder. Which not to anger bent, is musique, and sweete fire. Celestiall as thou art, Oh pardon loue this wrong, That sings heauens praise, with such an earthly tongue
Ped. You finde not the apostraphas, and so misse the accent. Let me superuise the cangenet
Nath. Here are onely numbers ratified, but for the elegancy, facility, & golden cadence of poesie caret: Ouiddius Naso was the man. And why in deed Naso, but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? the ierkes of inuention imitarie is nothing: So doth the Hound his master, the Ape his keeper, the tyred Horse his rider: But Damosella virgin, Was this directed to you? Iaq. I sir from one mounsier Berowne, one of the strange Queenes Lords
Nath. I will ouerglance the superscript. To the snow-white hand of the most beautious Lady Rosaline. I will looke againe on the intellect of the Letter, for the nomination of the partie written to the person written vnto. Your Ladiships in all desired imployment, Berowne
Ped. Sir Holofernes, this Berowne is one of the Votaries with the King, and here he hath framed a Letter to a sequent of the stranger Queens: which accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and goe my sweete, deliuer this Paper into the hand of the King, it may concerne much: stay not thy complement, I forgiue thy duetie, adue
Maid. Good Costard go with me: Sir God saue your life
Cost. Haue with thee my girle. Enter.
Hol. Sir you haue done this in the feare of God very religiously: and as a certaine Father saith Ped. Sir tell not me of the Father, I do feare colourable colours. But to returne to the Verses, Did they please you sir Nathaniel? Nath. Marueilous well for the pen
Peda. I do dine to day at the fathers of a certaine Pupill of mine, where if (being repast) it shall please you to gratifie the table with a Grace, I will on my priuiledge I haue with the parents of the foresaid Childe or Pupill, vndertake your bien venuto, where I will proue those Verses to be very vnlearned, neither sauouring of Poetrie, Wit, nor Inuention. I beseech your Societie
Nat. And thanke you to: for societie (saith the text) is the happinesse of life
Peda. And certes the text most infallibly concludes it. Sir I do inuite you too, you shall not say me nay: pauca verba. Away, the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation.
Exeunt.
Enter Berowne with a Paper in his hand, alone.
Bero. The King he is hunting the Deare, I am coursing my selfe. They haue pitcht a Toyle, I am toyling in a pytch, pitch that defiles; defile, a foule word: Well, set thee downe sorrow; for so they say the foole said, and so say I, and I the foole: Well proued wit. By the Lord this Loue is as mad as Aiax, it kils sheepe, it kils mee, I a sheepe: Well proued againe a my side. I will not loue; if I do hang me: yfaith I will not. O but her eye: by this light, but for her eye, I would not loue her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I doe nothing in the world but lye, and lye in my throate. By heauen I doe loue, and it hath taught mee to Rime, and to be mallicholie: and here is part of my Rime, and heere my mallicholie. Well, she hath one a'my Sonnets already, the Clowne bore it, the Foole sent it, and the Lady hath it: sweet Clowne, sweeter Foole, sweetest Lady. By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper, God giue him grace to grone.
He stands aside. The King entreth.
Kin. Ay mee! Ber. Shot by heauen: proceede sweet Cupid, thou hast thumpt him with thy Birdbolt vnder the left pap: in faith secrets
King. So sweete a kisse the golden Sunne giues not, To those fresh morning drops vpon the Rose, As thy eye beames, when their fresh rayse haue smot. The night of dew that on my cheekes downe flowes. Nor shines the siluer Moone one halfe so bright, Through the transparent bosome of the deepe, As doth thy face through teares of mine giue light: Thou shin'st in euery teare that I doe weepe, No drop, but as a Coach doth carry thee: So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the teares that swell in me, And they thy glory through my griefe will show: But doe not loue thy selfe, then thou wilt keepe My teares for glasses, and still make me weepe. O Queene of Queenes, how farre dost thou excell, No thought can thinke, nor tongue of mortall tell. How shall she know my griefes? Ile drop the paper. Sweete leaues shade folly. Who is he comes heere? Enter Longauile. The King steps aside.
What Longauill, and reading: listen eare
Ber. Now in thy likenesse, one more foole appeare
Long. Ay me, I am forsworne
Ber. Why he comes in like a periure, wearing papers
Long. In loue I hope, sweet fellowship in shame
Ber. One drunkard loues another of the name
Lon. Am I the first y haue been periur'd so? Ber. I could put thee in comfort, not by two that I know, Thou makest the triumphery, the corner cap of societie, The shape of Loues Tiburne, that hangs vp simplicitie
Lon. I feare these stubborn lines lack power to moue. O sweet Maria, Empresse of my Loue, These numbers will I teare, and write in prose
Ber. O Rimes are gards on wanton Cupids hose, Disfigure not his Shop
Lon. This same shall goe.
He reades the Sonnet.
Did not the heauenly Rhetoricke of thine eye, 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, Perswade my heart to this false periurie? Vowes for thee broke deserue not punishment. A Woman I forswore, but I will proue, Thou being a Goddesse, I forswore not thee. My Vow was earthly, thou a heauenly Loue. Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. Vowes are but breath, and breath a vapour is. Then thou faire Sun, which on my earth doest shine, Exhalest this vapor-vow, in thee it is: If broken then, it is no fault of mine: If by me broke, What foole is not so wise, To loose an oath, to win a Paradise? Ber. This is the liuer veine, which makes flesh a deity. A greene Goose, a Goddesse, pure pure Idolatry. God amend vs, God amend, we are much out o'th' way. Enter Dumaine.
Lon. By whom shall I send this (company?) Stay
Bero. All hid, all hid, an old infant play, Like a demie God, here sit I in the skie, And wretched fooles secrets heedfully ore-eye. More Sacks to the myll. O heauens I haue my wish, Dumaine transform'd, foure Woodcocks in a dish
Dum. O most diuine Kate
Bero. O most prophane coxcombe
Dum. By heauen the wonder of a mortall eye
Bero. By earth she is not, corporall, there you lye
Dum. Her Amber haires for foule hath amber coted
Ber. An Amber coloured Rauen was well noted
Dum. As vpright as the Cedar
Ber. Stoope I say, her shoulder is with-child
Dum. As faire as day
Ber. I as some daies, but then no sunne must shine
Dum. O that I had my wish? Lon. And I had mine
Kin. And mine too good Lord
Ber. Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good word? Dum. I would forget her, but a Feuer she Raignes in my bloud, and will remembred be
Ber. A Feuer in your bloud, why then incision Would let her out in Sawcers, sweet misprision
Dum. Once more Ile read the Ode that I haue writ
Ber. Once more Ile marke how Loue can varry Wit.
Dumane reades his Sonnet.
On a day, alack the day: Loue, whose Month is euery May, Spied a blossome passing faire, Playing in the wanton ayre: Through the Veluet, leaues the winde, All vnseene, can passage finde. That the Louer sicke to death, Wish himselfe the heauens breath. Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blowe, Ayre, would I might triumph so. But alacke my hand is sworne, Nere to plucke thee from thy throne: Vow alacke for youth vnmeete, youth so apt to plucke a sweet. Doe not call it sinne in me, That I am forsworne for thee. Thou for whom Ioue would sweare, Iuno but an aethiop were, And denie himselfe for Ioue. Turning mortall for thy Loue. This will I send, and something else more plaine. That shall expresse my true-loues fasting paine. O would the King, Berowne and Longauill, Were Louers too, ill to example ill, Would from my forehead wipe a periur'd note: For none offend, where all alike doe dote
Lon. Dumaine, thy Loue is farre from charitie, That in Loues griefe desir'st societie: You may looke pale, but I should blush I know, To be ore-heard, and taken napping so
Kin. Come sir, you blush: as his, your case is such, You chide at him, offending twice as much. You doe not loue Maria? Longauile, Did neuer Sonnet for her sake compile; Nor neuer lay his wreathed armes athwart His louing bosome, to keepe downe his heart. I haue beene closely shrowded in this bush, And markt you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty Rimes, obseru'd your fashion: Saw sighes reeke from you, noted well your passion. Aye me, sayes one! O Ioue, the other cries! On her haires were Gold, Christall the others eyes. You would for Paradise breake Faith and troth, And Ioue for your Loue would infringe an oath. What will Berowne say when that he shall heare Faith infringed, which such zeale did sweare. How will he scorne? how will he spend his wit? How will he triumph, leape, and laugh at it? For all the wealth that euer I did see, I would not haue him know so much by me
Bero. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisie. Ah good my Liedge, I pray thee pardon me. Good heart, What grace hast thou thus to reproue These wormes for louing, that art most in loue? Your eyes doe make no couches in your teares. There is no certaine Princesse that appeares. You'll not be periur'd, 'tis a hatefull thing: Tush, none but Minstrels like of Sonnetting. But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not All three of you, to be thus much ore'shot? You found his Moth, the King your Moth did see: But I a Beame doe finde in each of three. O what a Scene of fool'ry haue I seene. Of sighes, of grones, of sorrow, and of teene: O me, with what strict patience haue I sat, To see a King transformed to a Gnat? To see great Hercules whipping a Gigge, And profound Salomon tuning a Iygge? And Nestor play at push-pin with the boyes, And Critticke Tymon laugh at idle toyes. Where lies thy griefe? O tell me good Dumaine; And gentle Longauill, where lies thy paine? And where my Liedges? all about the brest: A Candle hoa! Kin. Too bitter is thy iest. Are wee betrayed thus to thy ouer-view? Ber. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you. I that am honest, I that hold it sinne To breake the vow I am ingaged in. I am betrayed by keeping company With men, like men of inconstancie. When shall you see me write a thing in rime? Or grone for Ioane? or spend a minutes time, In pruning mee, when shall you heare that I will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye: a gate, a state, a brow, a brest, a waste, a legge, a limme
Kin. Soft, Whither away so fast? A true man, or a theefe, that gallops so
Ber. I post from Loue, good Louer let me go. Enter Iaquenetta and Clowne.
Iaqu. God blesse the King
Kin. What Present hast thou there? Clo. Some certaine treason
Kin. What makes treason heere? Clo. Nay it makes nothing sir
Kin. If it marre nothing neither, The treason and you goe in peace away together
Iaqu. I beseech your Grace let this Letter be read, Our person mis-doubts it: it was treason he said
Kin. Berowne, read it ouer.
He reades the Letter.
Kin. Where hadst thou it? Iaqu. Of Costard
King. Where hadst thou it? Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio
Kin. How now, what is in you? why dost thou tear it? Ber. A toy my Liedge, a toy: your grace needes not feare it
Long. It did moue him to passion, and therefore let's heare it
Dum. It is Berowns writing, and heere is his name
Ber. Ah you whoreson loggerhead, you were borne to doe me shame. Guilty my Lord, guilty: I confesse, I confesse
Kin. What? Ber. That you three fooles, lackt mee foole, to make vp the messe. He, he, and you: and you my Liedge, and I, Are picke-purses in Loue, and we deserue to die. O dismisse this audience, and I shall tell you more
Dum. Now the number is euen
Berow. True true, we are fowre: will these Turtles be gone? Kin. Hence sirs, away
Clo. Walk aside the true folke, & let the traytors stay
Ber. Sweet Lords, sweet Louers, O let vs imbrace, As true we are as flesh and bloud can be, The Sea will ebbe and flow, heauen will shew his face: Young bloud doth not obey an old decree. We cannot crosse the cause why we are borne: Therefore of all hands must we be forsworne
King. What, did these rent lines shew some loue of thine? Ber. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heauenly Rosaline, That (like a rude and sauage man of Inde.) At the first opening of the gorgeous East, Bowes not his vassall head, and strooken blinde, Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory Eagle-sighted eye Dares looke vpon the heauen of her brow, That is not blinded by her maiestie? Kin. What zeale, what furie, hath inspir'd thee now? My Loue (her Mistres) is a gracious Moone, Shee (an attending Starre) scarce seene a light
Ber. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. O, but for my Loue, day would turne to night, Of all complexions the cul'd soueraignty, Doe meet as at a faire in her faire cheeke, Where seuerall Worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants, that want it selfe doth seeke. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, Fie painted Rethoricke, O she needs it not, To things of sale, a sellers praise belongs: She passes prayse, then prayse too short doth blot. A withered Hermite, fiuescore winters worne, Might shake off fiftie, looking in her eye: Beauty doth varnish Age, as if new borne, And giues the Crutch the Cradles infancie. O 'tis the Sunne that maketh all things shine
King. By heauen, thy Loue is blacke as Ebonie
Berow. Is Ebonie like her? O word diuine? A wife of such wood were felicite. O who can giue an oth? Where is a booke? That I may sweare Beauty doth beauty lacke, If that she learne not of her eye to looke: No face is faire that is not full so blacke
Kin. O paradoxe, Blacke is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons, and the Schoole of night: And beauties crest becomes the heauens well
Ber. Diuels soonest tempt resembling spirits of light. O if in blacke my Ladies browes be deckt, It mournes, that painting vsurping haire Should rauish doters with a false aspect: And therfore is she borne to make blacke, faire. Her fauour turnes the fashion of the dayes, For natiue bloud is counted painting now: And therefore red that would auoyd dispraise, Paints it selfe blacke, to imitate her brow
Dum. To look like her are Chimny-sweepers blacke
Lon. And since her time, are Colliers counted bright
King. And Aethiops of their sweet complexion crake
Dum. Dark needs no Candles now, for dark is light
Ber. Your mistresses dare neuer come in raine, For feare their colours should be washt away
Kin. 'Twere good yours did: for sir to tell you plaine, Ile finde a fairer face not washt to day
Ber. Ile proue her faire, or talke till dooms-day here
Kin. No Diuell will fright thee then so much as shee
Duma. I neuer knew man hold vile stuffe so deere
Lon. Looke, heer's thy loue, my foot and her face see
Ber. O if the streets were paued with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread
Duma. O vile, then as she goes what vpward lyes? The street should see as she walk'd ouer head
Kin. But what of this, are we not all in loue? Ber. O nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworne
Kin. Then leaue this chat, & good Berown now proue Our louing lawfull, and our fayth not torne
Dum. I marie there, some flattery for this euill
Long. O some authority how to proceed, Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the diuell
Dum. Some salue for periurie, Ber. O 'tis more then neede. Haue at you then affections men at armes, Consider what you first did sweare vnto: To fast, to study, and to see no woman: Flat treason against the Kingly state of youth. Say, Can you fast? your stomacks are too young: And abstinence ingenders maladies. And where that you haue vow'd to studie (Lords) In that each of you haue forsworne his Booke. Can you still dreame and pore, and thereon looke. For when would you my Lord, or you, or you, Haue found the ground of studies excellence, Without the beauty of a womans face; From womens eyes this doctrine I deriue, They are the Ground, the Bookes, the Achadems, From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. Why, vniuersall plodding poysons vp The nimble spirits in the arteries, As motion and long during action tyres The sinnowy vigour of the trauailer. Now for not looking on a womans face, You haue in that forsworne the vse of eyes: And studie too, the causer of your vow. For where is any Author in the world, Teaches such beauty as a womans eye: Learning is but an adiunct to our selfe, And where we are, our Learning likewise is. Then when our selues we see in Ladies eyes, With our selues. Doe we not likewise see our learning there? O we haue made a Vow to studie, Lords, And in that vow we haue forsworne our Bookes: For when would you (my Leege) or you, or you? In leaden contemplation haue found out Such fiery Numbers as the prompting eyes, Of beauties tutors haue inrich'd you with: Other slow Arts intirely keepe the braine: And therefore finding barraine practizers, Scarce shew a haruest of their heauy toyle. But Loue first learned in a Ladies eyes, Liues not alone emured in the braine: But with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in euery power, And giues to euery power a double power, Aboue their functions and their offices. It addes a precious seeing to the eye: A Louers eyes will gaze an Eagle blinde. A Louers eare will heare the lowest sound. When the suspicious head of theft is stopt. Loues feeling is more soft and sensible, Then are the tender hornes of Cockle Snayles. Loues tongue proues dainty, Bachus grosse in taste, For Valour, is not Loue a Hercules? Still climing trees in the Hesperides. Subtill as Sphinx, as sweet and musicall, As bright Apollo's Lute, strung with his haire. And when Loue speakes, the voyce of all the Gods, Make heauen drowsie with the harmonie. Neuer durst Poet touch a pen to write, Vntill his Inke were tempred with Loues sighes: O then his lines would rauish sauage eares, And plant in Tyrants milde humilitie. From womens eyes this doctrine I deriue. They sparcle still the right promethean fire, They are the Bookes, the Arts, the Achademes, That shew, containe, and nourish all the world. Else none at all in ought proues excellent. Then fooles you were these women to forsweare: Or keeping what is sworne, you will proue fooles, For Wisedomes sake, a word that all men loue: Or for Loues sake, a word that loues all men. Or for Mens sake, the author of these Women: Or Womens sake, by whom we men are Men. Let's once loose our oathes to finde our selues, Or else we loose our selues, to keepe our oathes: It is religion to be thus forsworne. For Charity it selfe fulfills the Law: And who can seuer loue from Charity
Kin. Saint Cupid then, and Souldiers to the field
Ber. Aduance your standards, & vpon them Lords, Pell, mell, downe with them: but be first aduis'd, In conflict that you get the Sunne of them
Long. Now to plaine dealing, Lay these glozes by, Shall we resolue to woe these girles of France? Kin. And winne them too, therefore let vs deuise, Some entertainment for them in their Tents
Ber. First from the Park let vs conduct them thither, Then homeward euery man attach the hand Of his faire Mistresse, in the afternoone We will with some strange pastime solace them: Such as the shortnesse of the time can shape, For Reuels, Dances, Maskes, and merry houres, Fore-runne faire Loue, strewing her way with flowres
Kin. Away, away, no time shall be omitted, That will be time, and may by vs be fitted
Ber. Alone, alone sowed Cockell, reap'd no Corne, And Iustice alwaies whirles in equall measure: Light Wenches may proue plagues to men forsworne, If so, our Copper buyes no better treasure.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
Enter the Pedant, Curate and Dull.
Pedant. Satis quid sufficit
Curat. I praise God for you sir, your reasons at dinner haue beene sharpe & sententious: pleasant without scurrillity, witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresie: I did conuerse this quondam day with a companion of the Kings, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armatho
Ped. Noui hominum tanquam te, His humour is lofty, his discourse peremptorie: his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gate maiesticall, and his generall behauiour vaine, ridiculous, and thrasonicall. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odde, as it were, too peregrinat, as I may call it
Curat. A most singular and choise Epithat,
Draw out his Table-booke.
Peda. He draweth out the thred of his verbositie, finer then the staple of his argument. I abhor such phanaticall phantasims, such insociable and poynt deuise companions, such rackers of ortagriphie, as to speake dout fine, when he should say doubt; det, when he shold pronounce debt; debt, not det: he clepeth a Calf, Caufe: halfe, haufe: neighbour vocatur nebour; neigh abreuiated ne: this is abhominable, which he would call abhominable it insinuateth me of infamie: ne inteligis domine, to make franticke, lunaticke? Cura. Laus deo, bene intelligo
Peda. Bome boon for boon prescian, a little scratcht, 'twil serue. Enter Bragart, Boy.
Curat. Vides ne quis venit? Peda. Video, & gaudio
Brag. Chirra
Peda. Quari Chirra, not Sirra? Brag. Men of peace well incountred
Ped. Most millitarie sir salutation
Boy. They haue beene at a great feast of Languages, and stolne the scraps
Clow. O they haue liu'd long on the almes-basket of words. I maruell thy M[aster]. hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitu%dinitatibus: Thou art easier swallowed then a flapdragon
Page. Peace, the peale begins
Brag. Mounsier, are you not lettred? Page. Yes, yes, he teaches boyes the Horne-booke: What is Ab speld backward with the horn on his head? Peda. Ba, puericia with a horne added
Pag. Ba most seely Sheepe, with a horne: you heare his learning
Peda. Quis quis, thou Consonant? Pag. The last of the fiue Vowels if You repeat them, or the fift if I
Peda. I will repeat them: a e I
Pag. The Sheepe, the other two concludes it o u
Brag. Now by the salt waue of the mediteranium, a sweet tutch, a quicke venewe of wit, snip snap, quick & home, it reioyceth my intellect, true wit
Page. Offered by a childe to an olde man: which is wit-old
Peda. What is the figure? What is the figure? Page. Hornes
Peda. Thou disputes like an Infant: goe whip thy Gigge
Pag. Lend me your Horne to make one, and I will whip about your Infamie vnum cita a gigge of a Cuckolds horne
Clow. And I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst haue it to buy Ginger bread: Hold, there is the very Remuneration I had of thy Maister, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou Pidgeon-egge of discretion. O & the heauens were so pleased, that thou wert but my Bastard; What a ioyfull father wouldst thou make mee? Goe to, thou hast it ad dungil, at the fingers ends, as they say
Peda. Oh I smell false Latine, dunghel for vnguem
Brag. Arts-man preambulat, we will bee singled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the Charghouse on the top of the Mountaine? Peda. Or Mons the hill
Brag. At your sweet pleasure, for the Mountaine
Peda. I doe sans question
Bra. Sir, it is the Kings most sweet pleasure and affection, to congratulate the Princesse at her Pauilion, in the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the after-noone
Ped. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the after-noone: the word is well culd, chose, sweet, and apt I doe assure you sir, I doe assure
Brag. Sir, the King is a noble Gentleman, and my familiar, I doe assure ye very good friend: for what is inward betweene vs, let it passe. I doe beseech thee remember thy curtesie. I beseech thee apparell thy head: and among other importunate & most serious designes, and of great import indeed too: but let that passe, for I must tell thee it will please his Grace (by the world) sometime to leane vpon my poore shoulder, and with his royall finger thus dallie with my excrement, with my mustachio: but sweet heart let that passe. By the world I recount no fable, some certaine speciall honours it pleaseth his greatnesse to impart to Armado a Souldier, a man of trauell, that hath seene the world: but let that passe; the very all of all is: but sweet heart I do implore secrecie, that the King would haue mee present the Princesse (sweet chucke) with some delightfull ostentation, or show, or pageant, or anticke, or fire-worke: Now, vnderstanding that the Curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions, and sodaine breaking out of myrth (as it were) I haue acquainted you withall, to the end to craue your assistance