Shakespeare's First Folio
Chapter 116 : Brag. But O, but O Boy. The Hobbie-horse is forgot Bra. Cal'st thou my loue Hobbi

Brag. But O, but O

Boy. The Hobbie-horse is forgot

Bra. Cal'st thou my loue Hobbi-horse

Boy. No Master, the Hobbie-horse is but a Colt, and and your Loue perhaps, a Hacknie: but haue you forgot your Loue?

Brag. Almost I had

Boy. Negligent student, learne her by heart

Brag. By heart, and in heart Boy

Boy. And out of heart Master: all those three I will proue

Brag. What wilt thou proue?

Boy. A man, if I liue (and this) by, in, and without, vpon the instant: by heart you loue her, because your heart cannot come by her: in heart you loue her, because your heart is in loue with her: and out of heart you loue her, being out of heart that you cannot enioy her

Brag. I am all these three

Boy. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all

Brag. Fetch hither the Swaine, he must carrie mee a letter

Boy. A message well simpathis'd, a Horse to be emba.s.sadour for an a.s.se

Brag. Ha, ha, What saiest thou?

Boy. Marrie sir, you must send the a.s.se vpon the Horse for he is verie slow gated: but I goe

Brag. The way is but short, away

Boy. As swift as Lead sir

Brag. Thy meaning prettie ingenious, is not Lead a mettall heauie, dull, and slow?

Boy. Minnime honest Master, or rather Master no

Brag. I say Lead is slow

Boy. You are too swift sir to say so.

Is that Lead slow which is fir'd from a Gunne?

Brag. Sweete smoke of Rhetorike, He reputes me a Cannon, and the Bullet that's he: I shoote thee at the Swaine

Boy. Thump then, and I flee

Bra. A most acute Iuuenall, voluble and free of grace, By thy fauour sweet Welkin, I must sigh in thy face.

Most rude melancholie, Valour giues thee place.

My Herald is return'd.

Enter Page and Clowne.

Pag. A wonder Master, here's a Costard broken in a s.h.i.+n

Ar. Some enigma, some riddle, come, thy Lenuoy begin

Clo. No egma, no riddle, no lenuoy, no salue, in thee male sir. Or sir, Plantan, a plaine Plantan: no lenuoy, no lenuoy, no Salue sir, but a Plantan

Ar. By vertue, thou inforcest laughter, thy sillie thought, my spleene, the heauing of my lunges prouokes me to rediculous smyling: O pardon me my stars, doth the inconsiderate take salue for lenuoy, and the word lenuoy for a salue?

Pag. Doe the wise thinke them other, is not lenuoy a salue?

Ar. No Page, it is an epilogue or discourse to make plaine, Some obscure precedence that hath tofore bin faine.

Now will I begin your morrall, and do you follow with my lenuoy.

The Foxe, the Ape, and the Humble-Bee, Were still at oddes, being but three

Arm. Vntill the Goose came out of doore, Staying the oddes by adding foure

Pag. A good Lenuoy, ending in the Goose: would you desire more?

Clo. The Boy hath sold him a bargaine, a Goose, that's flat.

Sir, your penny-worth is good, and your Goose be fat.

To sell a bargaine well is as cunning as fast and loose: Let me see a fat Lenuoy, I that's a fat Goose

Ar. Come hither, come hither: How did this argument begin?

Boy. By saying that a Costard was broken in a s.h.i.+n.

Then cal'd you for the Lenuoy

Clow. True, and I for a Plantan: Thus came your argument in: Then the Boyes fat Lenuoy, the Goose that you bought, And he ended the market

Ar. But tell me: How was there a Costard broken in a s.h.i.+n?

Pag. I will tell you sencibly

Clow. Thou hast no feeling of it Moth, I will speake that Lenuoy.

I Costard running out, that was safely within, Fell ouer the threshold, and broke my s.h.i.+n

Arm. We will talke no more of this matter

Clow. Till there be more matter in the s.h.i.+n

Arm. Sirra Costard, I will infranchise thee

Clow. O, marrie me to one Francis, I smell some Lenuoy, some Goose in this

Arm. By my sweete soule, I meane, setting thee at libertie.

Enfreedoming thy person: thou wert emured, restrained, captiuated, bound

Clow. True, true, and now you will be my purgation, and let me loose

Arm. I giue thee thy libertie, set thee from durance, and in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: Beare this significant to the countrey Maide Iaquenetta: there is remuneration, for the best ward of mine honours is rewarding my dependants. Moth, follow

Pag. Like the sequell I.

Signeur Costard adew.

Enter.

Clow. My sweete ounce of mans flesh, my inconie Iew: Now will I looke to his remuneration.