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?
  ARMADO. 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, 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 snuff'd up love by smelling love,
    with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes, with
    your arms cross'd on your thin-belly 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 complements, 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.
  ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience?
  MOTH. By my penny of observation.
  ARMADO. But O- but O-
  MOTH. The hobby-horse is forgot.
  ARMADO. Call'st thou my love 'hobby-horse'?
  MOTH. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love
    perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love?
  ARMADO. Almost I had.
  MOTH. Negligent student! learn her by heart.
  ARMADO. By heart and in heart, boy.
  MOTH. And out of heart, master; all those three I will prove.
  ARMADO. What wilt thou prove?
  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.
  ARMADO. I am all these three.
  MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.
  ARMADO. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.
  MOTH. A message well sympathiz'd- a horse to be ambassador for
an
    ass.
  ARMADO. 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.
  ARMADO. The way is but short; away.
  MOTH. As swift as lead, sir.
  ARMADO. The meaning, pretty ingenious?
    Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?
  MOTH. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.
  ARMADO. 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?
  ARMADO. 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
  ARMADO. A most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace!
    By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face;
    Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
    My herald is return'd.

Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD

  MOTH. A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin.
  ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l'envoy; begin.
  COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail,
sir.
    O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy;
no
    salve, sir, but a plantain!
  ARMADO. 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?
  ARMADO. 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.
  ARMADO. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
           Were still at odds, being but three.
  MOTH. Until the goose came out of door,
           And stay'd 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.
  ARMADO. 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?
  COSTARD. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat.
    Sir, your pennyworth is good, an 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.
  ARMADO. 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.
  COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument
in;
    Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;
    And he ended the market.
  ARMADO. But tell me: how was there a costard broken in a shin?
  MOTH. I will tell you sensibly.
  COSTARD. 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.
  ARMADO. We will talk no more of this matter.
  COSTARD. Till there be more matter in the shin.
  ARMADO. Sirrah Costard. I will enfranchise thee.
  COSTARD. O, Marry me to one Frances! I smell some l'envoy, some
    goose, in this.
  ARMADO. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty,
    enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained,
    captivated, bound.
  COSTARD. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let
me
    loose.
  ARMADO. 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 honour is
    rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. Exit
  MOTH. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.
  COSTARD. My sweet ounce of man's flesh, my incony Jew!
                                                       Exit MOTH
    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

  BEROWNE. My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met!
  COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy