Shakespeare's First Folio
Chapter 117 : Remuneration, O, that's the Latine word for three-farthings: Three-farthings remu

Remuneration, O, that's the Latine word for three-farthings: Three-farthings remuneration, What's the price of this yncle? i.d. no, Ile giue you a remuneration: Why?

It carries it remuneration: Why? It is a fairer name then a French-Crowne. I will neuer buy and sell out of this word.

Enter Berowne.

Ber. O my good knaue Costard, exceedingly well met

Clow. Pray you sir, How much Carnation Ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?

Ber. What is a remuneration?

Cost. Marrie sir, halfe pennie farthing

Ber. O, Why then threefarthings worth of Silke

Cost. I thanke your wors.h.i.+p, G.o.d be wy you

Ber. O stay slaue, I must employ thee: As thou wilt win my fauour, good my knaue, Doe one thing for me that I shall intreate

Clow. When would you haue it done sir?

Ber. O this after-noone

Clo. Well, I will doe it sir: Fare you well

Ber. O thou knowest not what it is

Clo. I shall know sir, when I haue done it

Ber. Why villaine thou must know first

Clo. I wil come to your wors.h.i.+p to morrow morning

Ber. It must be done this after-noone, Harke slaue, it is but this: The Princesse comes to hunt here in the Parke, And in her traine there is a gentle Ladie: When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, And Rosaline they call her, aske for her: And to her white hand see thou do commend This seal'd-vp counsaile. Ther's thy guerdon: goe

Clo. Gardon, O sweete gardon, better then remuneration, a leuenpence-farthing better: most sweete gardon.

I will doe it sir in print: gardon, remuneration.

Enter.

Ber. O, and I forsooth in loue, I that haue beene loues whip?

A verie Beadle to a humerous sigh: A Criticke, Nay, a night-watch Constable.

A domineering pedant ore the Boy, Then whom no mortall so magnificent, This wimpled, whyning, purblinde waiward Boy, This signior Iunios gyant dwarfe, don Cupid, Regent of Loue-rimes, Lord of folded armes, Th' annointed soueraigne of sighes and groanes: Liedge of all loyterers and malecontents: Dread Prince of Placcats, King of Codpeeces.

Sole Emperator and great generall Of trotting Parrators (O my little heart.) And I to be a Corporall of his field, And weare his colours like a Tumblers hoope.

What? I loue, I sue, I seeke a wife, A woman that is like a Germane Cloake, Still a repairing: euer out of frame, And neuer going a right, being a Watch: But being watcht, that it may still goe right.

Nay, to be periurde, which is worst of all: And among three, to loue the worst of all, A whitly wanton, with a veluet brow.

With two pitch bals stucke in her face for eyes.

I, and by heauen, one that will doe the deede, Though Argus were her Eunuch and her garde.

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 dreadfull little might.

Well, I will loue, write, sigh, pray, shue, grone, Some men must loue my Lady, and some Ione.

Actus Quartus.

Enter the Princesse, a Forrester, her Ladies, and her Lords.

Qu. Was that the King that spurd his horse so hard, Against the steepe vprising of the hill?

Boy. I know not, but I thinke it was not he

Qu. Who ere a was, a shew'd a mounting minde: Well Lords, to day we shall haue our dispatch, On Saterday we will returne to France.

Then Forrester my friend, Where is the Bush That we must stand and play the murtherer in?

For. Hereby vpon the edge of yonder Coppice, A stand where you may make the fairest shoote

Qu. I thanke my beautie, I am faire that shoote, And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoote

For. Pardon me Madam, for I meant not so

Qu. What, what? First praise me, & then again say no.

O short liu'd pride. Not faire? alacke for woe

For. Yes Madam faire

Qu. Nay, neuer paint me now, Where faire is not, praise cannot mend the brow.

Here (good my gla.s.se) take this for telling true: Faire paiment for foule words, is more then due

For. Nothing but faire is that which you inherit

Qu. See, see, my beautie will be sau'd by merit.

O heresie in faire, fit for these dayes, A giuing hand, though foule, shall haue faire praise.

But come, the Bow: Now Mercie goes to kill, And shooting well, is then accounted ill: Thus will I saue my credit in the shoote, Not wounding, pittie would not let me do't: If wounding, then it was to shew my skill, That more for praise, then purpose meant to kill.

And out of question, so it is sometimes: Glory growes guiltie of detested crimes, When for Fames sake, for praise an outward part, We bend to that, the working of the hart.

As I for praise alone now seeke to spill The poore Deeres blood, that my heart meanes no ill

Boy. Do not curst wiues hold that selfe-soueraigntie Onely for praise sake, when they striue to be Lords ore their Lords?

Qu. Onely for praise, and praise we may afford, To any Lady that subdewes a Lord.

Enter Clowne.

Boy. Here comes a member of the common-wealth

Clo. G.o.d dig-you-den all, pray you which is the head Lady?

Qu. Thou shalt know her fellow, by the rest that haue no heads

Clo. Which is the greatest Lady, the highest?

Qu. The thickest, and the tallest

Clo. The thickest, & the tallest: it is so, truth is truth.

And your waste Mistris, were as slender as my wit, One a these Maides girdles for your waste should be fit.

Are not you the chiefe woma[n]? You are the thickest here?

Qu. What's your will sir? What's your will?

Clo. I haue a Letter from Monsier Berowne, To one Lady Rosaline

Qu. O thy letter, thy letter: He's a good friend of mine.

Stand a side good bearer.

Boyet, you can carue, Breake vp this Capon

Boyet. I am bound to serue.