Speeches (Lines) for Dumain in "Love's Labour's Lost"

Longaville. I am resolved; 'tis but a three years' fast:
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.

Dumain. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified:
The grosser manner of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
With all these living in philosophy.

Ferdinand. How well he's read, to reason against reading!

Dumain. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!

Berowne. The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding.

Dumain. How follows that?

Berowne. Fit in his place and time.

Dumain. In reason nothing.

Berowne. I cannot stay thanksgiving.

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.

Berowne. All hid, all hid; an old infant play.
Like a demigod here sit I in the sky.
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'ereye.
More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!
[Enter DUMAIN, with a paper]
Dumain transform'd! four woodcocks in a dish!

Dumain. O most divine Kate!

Berowne. O most profane coxcomb!

Dumain. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!

Berowne. By earth, she is not, corporal, there you lie.

Dumain. Her amber hair for foul hath amber quoted.

Berowne. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

Dumain. As upright as the cedar.

Berowne. Stoop, I say;
Her shoulder is with child.

Dumain. As fair as day.

Berowne. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.

Dumain. O that I had my wish!

Berowne. Amen, so I had mine: is not that a good word?

Dumain. I would forget her; but a fever she
Reigns in my blood and will remember'd be.

Berowne. A fever in your blood! why, then incision
Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision!

Dumain. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.

Berowne. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.

Dumain. [Reads]
On a day--alack the day!--
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, can passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn;
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet!
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee;
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.
This will I send, and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville,
Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,
Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note;
For none offend where all alike do dote.

Longaville. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it.

Dumain. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name.

Berowne. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess:
He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I,
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.

Dumain. Now the number is even.

Berowne. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
O, if in black my lady's brows be deck'd,
It mourns that painting and usurping hair
Should ravish doters with a false aspect;
And therefore is she born to make black fair.
Her favour turns the fashion of the days,
For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.

Dumain. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.

Ferdinand. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.

Dumain. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.

Ferdinand. No devil will fright thee then so much as she.

Dumain. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.

Berowne. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!

Dumain. O, vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies
The street should see as she walk'd overhead.

Ferdinand. Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

Dumain. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.

Longaville. O, some authority how to proceed;
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.

Dumain. Some salve for perjury.

Berowne. Therefore meet.

Dumain. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?

Maria. Name it.

Dumain. Fair lady,--

Maria. Say you so? Fair lord,--
Take that for your fair lady.

Dumain. Please it you,
As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

Ferdinand. We are descried; they'll mock us now downright.

Dumain. Let us confess and turn it to a jest.

Costard. I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big--

Dumain. The Great.

Holofernes. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canis;
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.
Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
Ergo I come with this apology.
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.
[MOTH retires]
Judas I am,--

Dumain. A Judas!

Holofernes. Not Iscariot, sir.
Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.

Dumain. Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.

Holofernes. Judas I am,--

Dumain. The more shame for you, Judas.

Boyet. A cittern-head.

Dumain. The head of a bodkin.

Boyet. The pommel of Caesar's falchion.

Dumain. The carved-bone face on a flask.

Berowne. Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch.

Dumain. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?

Dumain. For the latter end of his name.

Berowne. Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms.

Dumain. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

Longaville. His leg is too big for Hector's.

Dumain. More calf, certain.

Berowne. This cannot be Hector.

Dumain. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces.

Don Adriano de Armado. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift,--

Dumain. A gilt nutmeg.

Longaville. Stuck with cloves.

Dumain. No, cloven.

Don Adriano de Armado. Peace!--
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight; yea
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,--

Dumain. That mint.

Longaville. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.

Dumain. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

Boyet. [Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot,--

Dumain. [Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard.

Costard. Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is
quick by him and hanged for Pompey that is dead by
him.

Dumain. Most rare Pompey!

Berowne. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey!
Pompey the Huge!

Dumain. Hector trembles.

Berowne. Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! stir them
on! stir them on!

Dumain. Hector will challenge him.

Costard. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man:
I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword. I bepray you,
let me borrow my arms again.

Dumain. Room for the incensed Worthies!

Costard. I'll do it in my shirt.

Dumain. Most resolute Pompey!

Don Adriano de Armado. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat
in my shirt.

Dumain. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.

Princess of France. We have received your letters full of love;
Your favours, the ambassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy,
As bombast and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this in our respects
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

Dumain. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest.

Rosaline. You must be purged too, your sins are rack'd,
You are attaint with faults and perjury:
Therefore if you my favour mean to get,
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick]

Dumain. But what to me, my love? but what to me? A wife?

Katharine. A beard, fair health, and honesty;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.

Dumain. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?

Katharine. Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day
I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say:
Come when the king doth to my lady come;
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

Dumain. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.

Princess of France. Was not that Hector?

Dumain. The worthy knight of Troy.