Love's Labour's Lost By William Shakespeare Act V: Scene 2

COSTARD.
No, sir; but it is vara fine,
For every one pursents three.

BEROWNE.
And three times thrice is nine.

COSTARD.
Not so, sir; under correction, sir,
I hope it is not so.
You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we
know:
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, —

BEROWNE.
Is not nine.

COSTARD.
Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

BEROWNE.
By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

COSTARD.
O Lord, sir! it were pity you should get your living by
reckoning, sir.

BEROWNE.
How much is it?

COSTARD.
O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will
show whereuntil it doth amount: for mine own part, I am, as they
say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great,
sir.

BEROWNE.
Art thou one of the Worthies?

COSTARD.
It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the Great;
for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am
to stand for him.

BEROWNE.
Go, bid them prepare.

COSTARD.
We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.

[Exit COSTARD.]

KING.
Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach.

BEROWNE.
We are shame-proof, my lord, and 'tis some policy
To have one show worse than the king's and his company.

KING.
I say they shall not come.

PRINCESS.
Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now.
That sport best pleases that doth least know how;
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of those which it presents;
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,
When great things labouring perish in their birth.

BEROWNE.
A right description of our sport, my lord.

[Enter ARMADO.]

ARMADO.
Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet
breath as will utter a brace of words.

[Converses apart with the KING, and delivers a paper to him.]

PRINCESS.
Doth this man serve God?

BEROWNE.
Why ask you?

PRINCESS.
He speaks not like a man of God his making.

ARMADO.
That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I
protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too-too vain,
too-too vain: but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la
guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!

[Exit.]

KING.
Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents
Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate,
Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas
Maccabaeus:
And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive,
These four will change habits and present the other five.

BEROWNE.
There is five in the first show.

KING.
You are deceived, 'tis not so.

BEROWNE.
The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and
the boy: —
Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.

KING.
The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

[Enter COSTARD, armed for POMPEY.]

COSTARD.
'I Pompey am' —

BEROWNE.
You lie, you are not he.

COSTARD.
'I Pompey am' —

BOYET.
With libbard's head on knee.

BEROWNE.
Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends with thee.

COSTARD.
'I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the Big' —

DUMAINE.
'The Great.'

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