Page:Love's Labour's Lost (1925) Yale.djvu/41

Love's Labour's Lost, III. i

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.

Boyet. You are too hard for me.

Exeunt Omnes.

 

Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my

sense of hearing.

Moth. [Singing.] Concolinel,—

Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years;

take this key, give 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?

Arm. 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 by singing

love, sometime through [the] nose, as if you snuffed

up love by smelling love; with your hat pent-

house-like o'er the shop of your eyes; with your

arms crossed on your thin belly-doublet like a

 3 Concolinel; cf. n.

6 festinately: quickly

9 brawl: dance; cf. n.

13 canary: dance; cf. n.

18 penthouse-like: porch-like

