Love's Labour's Lost: Act 5

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DUMAIN
A gilt nutmeg.

BIRON
A lemon.

LONGAVILLE
Stuck with cloves.

DUMAIN
No, cloven.

ARMADO
Peace!--

The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight; yea
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,--

DUMAIN
That mint.

LONGAVILLE
That columbine.

ARMADO
Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.

LONGAVILLE
I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.

DUMAIN
Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

ARMADO
The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with my device. [To the PRINCESS] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.

PRINCESS
Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.

ARMADO
I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.

BOYET
[Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot,--

DUMAIN
[Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard.

ARMADO
This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,--

COSTARD
The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way.

ARMADO
What meanest thou?

COSTARD
Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in her belly already: 'tis yours.

ARMADO
Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt die.

COSTARD
Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is quick by him and hanged for Pompey that is dead by him.

DUMAIN
Most rare Pompey!

BOYET
Renowned Pompey!

BIRON
Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey!
Pompey the Huge!

DUMAIN
Hector trembles.

BIRON
Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! stir them on! stir them on!

DUMAIN
Hector will challenge him.

BIRON
Ay, if a' have no man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.

ARMADO
By the north pole, I do challenge thee.

COSTARD
I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man: I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my arms again.

DUMAIN
Room for the incensed Worthies!

COSTARD
I'll do it in my shirt.

DUMAIN
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.

ARMADO
Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.

DUMAIN
You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.

ARMADO
Sweet bloods, I both may and will.

BIRON
What reason have you for't?

ARMADO
The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.

BOYET
True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of Jaquenetta's, and that a' wears next his heart for a favour.

Enter MERCADE

MERCADE
God save you, madam!

PRINCESS
Welcome, Mercade;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

MERCADE
I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father--

PRINCESS
Dead, for my life!

MERCADE
Even so; my tale is told.

BIRON
Worthies, away! the scene begins to cloud.

ARMADO
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.

Exeunt Worthies

FERDINAND
How fares your majesty?

PRINCESS
Boyet, prepare; I will away tonight.

FERDINAND
Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.

PRINCESS
Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavors; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide
The liberal opposition of our spirits,
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath: your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewell worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue:
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

FERDINAND
The extreme parts of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed,
And often at his very loose decides
That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince,
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost
Is not by much so wholesome-profitable
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

 

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