William Shakespeare : Complete Collection. William ShakespeareЧитать онлайн книгу.
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!
Moth. As swift as lead, sir.
Arm.
The meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?
Moth.
Minime, honest master, or rather, master, no.
Arm.
I say lead is slow.
Moth.
You are too swift, sir, to say so.
Is that lead slow which is fir’d from a gun?
Arm.
Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
He reputes me a cannon, and the bullet, that’s he;
I shoot thee at the swain.
Moth.
Thump then, and I flee.
[Exit.]
Arm.
A most acute juvenal, volable and free of grace!
By thy favor, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face:
Most rude melancholy, valor gives thee place.
My herald is return’d.
Enter Page [Moth] and Clown [Costard].
Moth.
A wonder, master! Here’s a costard broken in a shin.
Arm.
Some enigma, some riddle—come, thy l’envoy—begin.
Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l’envoy, no salve in the mail, sir. O sir, plantan, a plain plantan; no l’envoy, no l’envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantan!
Arm. By virtue thou enforcest laughter—thy silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling—O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l’envoy, and the word ‘l’envoy’ for a salve?
Moth.
Do the wise think them other? is not l’envoy a salve?
Arm.
No, page, it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it:
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee
Were still at odds, being but three.
There’s the moral. Now the l’envoy.
Moth. I will add the l’envoy. Say the moral again.
Arm.
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee
Were still at odds, being but three.
Moth.
Until the goose came out of door,
And stayed the odds by adding four.
Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l’envoy:
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee
Were still at odds, being but three.
Arm.
Until the goose came out of door,
Staying the odds by adding four.
Moth. A good l’envoy, ending in the goose; would you desire more?
Cost.
The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that’s flat.
Sir, your pennyworth is good, and your goose be fat.
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose:
Let me see: a fat l’envoy—ay, that’s a fat goose.
Arm.
Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?
Moth.
By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.
Then call’d you for the l’envoy.
Cost.
True, and I for a plantan; thus came your argument in;
Then the boy’s fat l’envoy, the goose that you bought,
And he ended the market.
Arm. But tell me, how was there a costard broken in a shin?
Moth. I will tell you sensibly.
Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth. I will speak that l’envoy:
I, Costard, running out that was safely within,
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.
Arm. We will talk no more of this matter.
Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin.
Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.
Cost. O, marry me to one Frances! I smell some l’envoy, some goose, in this.
Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person: thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.
Cost. True, true, and now you will be my purgation and let me loose.
Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance, and in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this significant [giving a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta. There is remuneration, for the best ward of mine honor is rewarding my dependants. Moth, follow.
Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.
Exit [Armado, followed by Moth].
Cost. My sweet ounce of man’s flesh, my incony Jew!
Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that’s the Latin word for three farthings: three farthings—remuneration. “What’s the price of this inkle?”—“One penny.”—“No, I’ll give you a remuneration”: why, it carries it. Remuneration: why, it is a fairer name than French crown! I will never buy and sell out of this word.
Enter Berowne.
Ber. O, my good knave Costard, exceedingly well met!
Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?
Ber. O, what is a remuneration?
Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.
Ber. O, why then three-farthing worth of silk.
Cost. I thank your worship, God be wi’ you!
Ber.
O, stay, slave; I must employ thee.
As thou wilt win my favor, good my knave,