Biron. Pompey is moved.-More Ates,1 more Ates; Stir them on! Stir them on! Dum. Hector will challenge him. Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea. Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword.-I pray you, let me borrow my arms again. Dum. Room for the incensed worthies. Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. Dum. Most resolute Pompey! Moth. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose your reputation. Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt. Dum. You may not deny it. the challenge. Pompey hath made Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Biron. What reason have you for't? Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance. 2 Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen; since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that he wears next his heart for a favor. Enter a Messenger, MONSIEUR MERCADE. Mer. God save you, madam. Prin. Welcome, Mercade; But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The king your fatherPrin. Dead, for my life. Mer. Even so; my tale is told. 1 i. e. more instigation. Ate was the goddess of discord. 2 That is, clothed in wool, and not in linen; a penance often enjoined in times of superstition. Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion,' and I will right myself like a soldier. King. How fares your majesty? [Exeunt Worthies. Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. For all your fair endeavors, and entreat, Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe, King. The extreme parts of time extremely form All causes to the purpose of his speed; And often, at his very loose,2 decides That which long process could not arbitrate. And though the mourning brow of progeny The holy suit which fain it would convince ;3 From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost, As to rejoice at friends but newly found. Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double. Biron. Honest, plain words best pierce the ear of grief; And by these badges understand the king. 1 Armado probably means to say, in his affected style, that "he had discovered he was wronged." "One may see day at a little hole," 18 a proverb. 2 Loose may mean at the moment of his parting; i. e. of his getting loose or away from us. 3 i. e. which it fain would succeed in obtaining. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Played foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies, All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain; To those that make us both,-fair ladies, you; Prin. We have received your letters, full of love; Dum. Our letters, madam, showed much more than We did not quote them so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves. Prin. A time methinks too short 1 Thus in Decker's Satiromastix: "You shall swear not to bombast out a new play with the old linings of jests." 2 Regard. To make a world-without-end bargain in. Change not your offer made in heat of blood; Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts. For the remembrance of my father's death. 'King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! Hence ever, then, my heart is in thy breast. Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me? Ros. You must be purged too; your sins are rank; You are attaint with faults and perjury; Therefore, if you my favor mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick. Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? Kath. A wife!-A beard, fair health, and honesty ; With threefold love I wish you all these three. 1 Clothing. Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Kath. Not so, my lord.-A twelvemonth and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say. Come when the king doth to my lady come; Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Long. What says Maria? Mar. Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón, To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, To enforce the pained impotent to smile. Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be; it is impossible. Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Of him that hears it, never in the tongue |