Love's Labour's Lost. Уильям Шекспир. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Уильям Шекспир
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Жанр произведения: Драматургия
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What time o' day?

        KATHARINE. The hour that fools should ask.

        BEROWNE. Now fair befall your mask!

        KATHARINE. Fair fall the face it covers!

        BEROWNE. And send you many lovers!

        KATHARINE. Amen, so you be none.

        BEROWNE. Nay, then will I be gone.

        KING. Madam, your father here doth intimate

          The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;

          Being but the one half of an entire sum

          Disbursed by my father in his wars.

          But say that he or we, as neither have,

          Receiv'd that sum, yet there remains unpaid

          A hundred thousand more, in surety of the which,

          One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,

          Although not valued to the money's worth.

          If then the King your father will restore

          But that one half which is unsatisfied,

          We will give up our right in Aquitaine,

          And hold fair friendship with his Majesty.

          But that, it seems, he little purposeth,

          For here he doth demand to have repaid

          A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,

          On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,

          To have his title live in Aquitaine;

          Which we much rather had depart withal,

          And have the money by our father lent,

          Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is.

          Dear Princess, were not his requests so far

          From reason's yielding, your fair self should make

          A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast,

          And go well satisfied to France again.

        PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You do the King my father too much wrong,

          And wrong the reputation of your name,

          In so unseeming to confess receipt

          Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.

        KING. I do protest I never heard of it;

          And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back

          Or yield up Aquitaine.

        PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We arrest your word.

          Boyet, you can produce acquittances

          For such a sum from special officers

          Of Charles his father.

        KING. Satisfy me so.

        BOYET. So please your Grace, the packet is not come,

          Where that and other specialties are bound;

          To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

        KING. It shall suffice me; at which interview

          All liberal reason I will yield unto.

          Meantime receive such welcome at my hand

          As honour, without breach of honour, may

          Make tender of to thy true worthiness.

          You may not come, fair Princess, within my gates;

          But here without you shall be so receiv'd

          As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart,

          Though so denied fair harbour in my house.

          Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell.

          To-morrow shall we visit you again.

        PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet health and fair desires consort your

          Grace!

        KING. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place.

                                                  Exit with attendants

        BEROWNE. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.

        ROSALINE. Pray you, do my commendations;

          I would be glad to see it.

        BEROWNE. I would you heard it groan.

        ROSALINE. Is the fool sick?

        BEROWNE. Sick at the heart.

        ROSALINE. Alack, let it blood.

        BEROWNE. Would that do it good?

        ROSALINE. My physic says 'ay.'

        BEROWNE. Will YOU prick't with your eye?

        ROSALINE. No point, with my knife.

        BEROWNE. Now, God save thy life!

        ROSALINE. And yours from long living!

        BEROWNE. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring]

        DUMAIN. Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?

        BOYET. The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name.

        DUMAIN. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well. Exit

        LONGAVILLE. I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?

        BOYET. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.

        LONGAVILLE. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.

        BOYET. She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a

      shame.

        LONGAVILLE. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?

        BOYET. Her mother's, I have heard.

        LONGAVILLE. God's blessing on your beard!

        BOYET. Good sir, be not offended;

          She is an heir of Falconbridge.

        LONGAVILLE. Nay, my choler is ended.

          She is a most sweet lady.

        BOYET. Not unlike, sir; that may be. Exit LONGAVILLE

        BEROWNE. What's her name in the cap?

        BOYET. Rosaline, by good hap.

        BEROWNE. Is she wedded or no?

        BOYET. To her will, sir, or so.

        BEROWNE. You are welcome, sir; adieu!

        BOYET. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.

                                           Exit BEROWNE. LADIES Unmask

        MARIA. That last is Berowne, the merry mad-cap lord;

          Not a word with him but a jest.

        BOYET. And every jest but a word.

        PRINCESS OF FRANCE. It was well done of you to take him at his

          word.

        BOYET. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.

        KATHARINE. Two hot sheeps, marry!

        BOYET. And wherefore not ships?

          No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.

        KATHARINE.