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King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, to be taken with a wench.
Cost. I was taken with none, sir, I was taken with a damosel.
King. Well, it was proclaimed, damosel.
Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir ; she was a virgin.
King. It is so varied too ; for it was proclaimed, virgin.
Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity; I was taken with a maid.
King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir.
King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence; You shall fast a week with bran and water.
Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.
King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o’er.And go we, lords, to put in practice that, Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.--
[Exeunt King, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.Sirrah, come on.
Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir : for true it is, I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore, Welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affiction may one day smile again, and till then, Sil thee down, sorrow !
SCENE II.- Another part of the same. ARMADO's
Enter ARMADO and Moth. Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great spirit grows melancholy?
Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.
Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.
Moth. No, no; O lord, sir, no.
Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender juvenal ?
Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior.
Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior?
Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.
Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough.
Arm. Pretty, and apt.
Moth. How mean you, sir ? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty?
Arm. Thou pretty, because little.
Arm. What? that an eel is ingenious ?
Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers : Thou heatest my blood.
Moth. I am answered, sir.
Moth. He speaks the mere contrary, crosses love not him.
[Aside. Arm. I have promised to study three years with the duke.
Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir.
Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit of a tapster. Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir.
Arm. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete man.
Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.
Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study ? Now here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink: and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing horse will tell you,
Arn. A most fine figure !
[ Aside. Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love: and, as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a
base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobale thought of it, I would take desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh; methinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy: What great men have been in love?
Moth. Hercules, master.
Arm. Most sweet Hercules !- More authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.
Moth. Sampson, master: he was a man of good carriage, great carriage; for he carried the town gates on his back, like a porter: and he was in love.
Arm. O well-knit Sampson ! strong-jointed Sampson! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too,—Who was Sampson's love, my dear Moth ? Moth. A woman, master. Arm. Of what complexion ? Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two; or one of the four.
Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion ?
Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers: but to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampson had small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit.
Moth. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.
Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours.
Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.
Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!
Arm. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and pathetical! Moth. If she be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known;
And fears by pale-white shown:
By this you shall not know;
Which native she doth owe. A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red.
Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?
Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ba?lad some three ages since : but, I think, now 'tis not to be found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune.
Arm. I will have the subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard; she deserves well.
Moth. To be whipped; and yet a better love than my master.
[ Aside. Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench. Arm. I say, sing.