Love’s Labour’s Lost: Act III

SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park

Enter Armado the Braggart and Moth his Boy.

ARMADO. Warble, child, make passionate my sense of hearing.

MOTH. [Singing.] Concolinel.

ARMADO. 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?

ARMADO. 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...

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