Act 1, Scene II - Page 2

to put 'years' to the word 'three,' and
study three years in two words, the dancing horse
will tell you.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
A most fine figure!

MOTH
To prove you a cipher.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
I will hereupon confess I am in love: and as it is
base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a
base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour
of affection would deliver me from the reprobate
thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and
ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devised
courtesy. I think scorn to sigh: methinks I should
outswear Cupid. Comfort, me, boy: what great men
have been in love?

MOTH
Hercules, master.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name
more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good
repute and carriage.

MOTH
Samson, master: he was a man of good carriage, great
carriage, for he carried the town-gates on his back
like a porter: and he was in love.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do
excel thee in my rapier as much as thou didst me in
carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Samson's
love, my dear Moth?

MOTH
A woman, master.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
Of what complexion?

MOTH
Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
Tell me precisely of what complexion.

MOTH
Of the sea-water green, sir.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
Is that one of the four complexions?

MOTH
As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
Green indeed is the colour of lovers; but to have a
love of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason
for it. He surely affected her for her wit.

MOTH
It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
My love is most immaculate white and red.

MOTH
Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under
such colours.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
Define, define, well-educated infant.

MOTH
My father's wit and my mother's tongue, assist me!
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO
Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty and
pathetical!

MOTH
If she be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known,
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred
And fears by pale white shown:
Then if she fear, or be to blame,
By this you shall not know,
For still her cheeks possess the same
Which native she doth owe.
A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of
white and red.
DON

ADRIANO DE ARMADO