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King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place !
[Exeunt King and his train. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.
Ros. Pray you, do my commendations ; I would be glad to see it.
Biron. I would you heard it groan.
Boyet. Good sir, be not offended :
Long. Nay, my choler is ended.
[Exit LONGAVILLE. Biron. [Coming forward.] What's her name in the cap ?
Boyet. Katharine, by good hap.
[Exit BIRON.-Ladies unmask.
And every jest but a word. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board. Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry! Boyet.
And wherefore not ships ? No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; shall that finish the jest ? Boyet. So you grant pasture for me.
[Offering to kiss her. Mar.
Not so, gentle beast; My lips are no common, though several they be.
Boyet. Belonging to whom ?
To my fortunes and me.
Prin. With what ?
Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd
Boyet. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos'd:
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak’st skilfully.
What then, do you see? Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. Boyet.
You are too hard for me.
Cost, Remuneration ! O, that's the Latin word for three-farthings: three-farthingt-remuneration.
-Act III, Sc. l.
Enter ARMADO and MOTH. Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense of hearing. Moth. Concolineli
[Singing. Arm. Sweet air !–Go, tenderness of years ; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither ; I must employ him in a letter to my love.
Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl ?2 Arm. How meanest thou ? brawling in French ?
Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, 3 humour it with turning up your eyelids; sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love ; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms crossed on your thin belly's doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting ; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are compliments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches—that would be betrayed without these ; and make them men of note (do you note me ?), that most are affected to these.
Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience ?
Moth. No, master ; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love ?
Arm. Almost I had.
Moth. A man, if I live ; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her: in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.
Arm. I am all these three.
Moth. A message well sympathised ; a horse to be ambassador for an ass!
Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou ?
Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited. But I go.
Arm. The way is but short ; away.
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?