three farthings-remuneration—What's the price of this inkle? a 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. Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration? Biron. What is a remuneration? Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing. Biron. O, why then three-farthings-worth of silk. Cost. When would you have it done, sir? Cost. Well, I will do it, sir; Fare you well. Biron. It must be done this afternoon. slave, it is but this;— The princess comes to hunt here in the park, Hark, 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. [Gives him money. Cost. Guerdon,-O sweet guerdon! better than remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most sweet guerdon!-I will do it, sir, in print.-Guerdon-remuneration. [Exit. Biron. O! And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip; A very beadle to a humorous sigh; A critick; nay, a night-watch constable; A domineering pedant o'er the boy, This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy; But being watch'd that it may still go right? With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes; Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan; Some men must love my lady, and some Joan 22. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. Another Part of the same. Enter the Princess, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill? Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he. Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting mind. Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch; On saturday we will return to France.Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush, That we must stand and play the murderer in? For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice; A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe! Prin. Fair payment for foul words is more than due. A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.- And shooting well is then accounted ill. Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: Not wounding, pity would not let me do't: Glory grows guilty of detested crimes; When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart: As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. |