ARMADO.
It doth amount to one more than two.
MOTH.
Which the base vulgar do call three.
ARMADO.
True.
MOTH.
Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here’s three studied ere ye’ll thrice wink. And how easy it is to put “years” to the word “three”, and study three years in two words, the dancing horse will tell you.
ARMADO.
A most fine figure!
MOTH.
[Aside.] To prove you a cipher.
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 curtsy. I think scorn to sigh; methinks I should outswear Cupid. Comfort me, boy. What great men have been in love?
MOTH.
Hercules, master.
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.