Love's Labour's Lost: Act 3, Scene 1

    comedy

    The same.

    Scene Summary

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    Armado sends Costard to deliver his letter to Jaquenetta. Berowne arrives and also gives Costard a letter, meant for Rosaline, along with a coin. Costard now carries two letters and will deliver them to the wrong people.

    Enter DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO and MOTH
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.
    MOTH
    Concolinel.
    Singing
    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.
    MOTH
    Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    How meanest thou? brawling 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
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    How hast thou purchased this experience?
    MOTH
    By my penny of observation.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    But O,--but O,--
    MOTH
    'The hobby-horse is forgot.'
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Callest thou my love '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
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Almost I had.
    MOTH
    Negligent student! learn her by heart.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    By heart and in heart, boy.
    MOTH
    And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    What wilt thou 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
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    I am all these three.
    MOTH
    And three times as much more, and yet nothing at
    all.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter.
    MOTH
    A message well sympathized; a horse to be ambassador
    for an ass.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Ha, ha! what sayest thou?
    MOTH
    Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse,
    for he is very slow-gaited. But I go.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    The way is but short: away!
    MOTH
    As swift as lead, sir.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    The meaning, pretty ingenious?
    Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?
    MOTH
    Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.
    DON
    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
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
    He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
    I shoot thee at the swain.
    MOTH
    Thump then and I flee.
    Exit
    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.
    Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD
    MOTH
    A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy l'envoy; begin.
    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
    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?
    MOTH
    Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy a salve?
    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.
    MOTH
    I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
    Were still at odds, being but 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
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Until the goose came out of door,
    Staying the odds by adding four.
    MOTH
    A good l'envoy, ending in the goose: would you
    desire 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
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?
    MOTH
    By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.
    Then call'd you for the l'envoy.
    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
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    But tell me; how was there a costard broken in a shin?
    MOTH
    I will tell you sensibly.
    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
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    We will talk no more of this matter.
    COSTARD
    Till there be more matter in the shin.
    DON
    ADRIANO DE ARMADO
    Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.
    COSTARD
    O, marry me to one Frances: I smell some l'envoy,
    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.
    COSTARD
    True, true; and now you will be my purgation and let me loose.
    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
    Giving a letter
    to the country maid Jaquenetta:
    there is remuneration; for the best ward of mine
    honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.
    Exit
    MOTH
    Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.
    COSTARD
    My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony Jew!
    Exit MOTH
    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.
    Enter BIRON
    BIRON
    O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.
    COSTARD
    Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man
    buy for a remuneration?
    BIRON
    What is a remuneration?
    COSTARD
    Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.
    BIRON
    Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.
    COSTARD
    I thank your worship: God be wi' 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.
    COSTARD
    When would you have it done, sir?
    BIRON
    This afternoon.
    COSTARD
    Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well.
    BIRON
    Thou knowest not what it is.
    COSTARD
    I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
    BIRON
    Why, villain, thou must know first.
    COSTARD
    I will come to your worship to-morrow 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.
    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!
    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.
    Exit
    LOVE'S LABOURS LOST