Page 2409 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1
P. 2409
ACT III IT
Scene I IT
Enter Armado and Mote.
ARMADO
Warble, child: make passionate my sense of hearing.
MOTE
(singing) Concolinel.
ARMADO
Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give enlargement to the
swain, bring him festinately [5] hither. I must employ him in a letter to my
love.
MOTE
Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?
ARMADO
How meanest thou? Brawling in French?
MOTE
No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at [10] 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 snuffed up love
by smelling love, with your hat [15] penthouse-like o’er the shop of your
eyes, with your arms crossed 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 long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are compliments,
these are humours, these [20] 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.
